Le Père
by April Rane
Summary: Life becomes complicated for Erik when his family begins to find out what he isn't telling them... EC, ROC. Rated for S,L Alternate Movieverse
1. Prologue

_a/n As usual, I'm combining Leroux and Kay and Webber, but this one's got a bit more Kay. Erik is not 13 in Italy, he's 16. He is then 19 when leaving Persia. Rock on._

**PROLOGUE**

It was painful, really, to be sixteen and in love. She was beautiful, Luciana, but she was positively infuriating. No matter what he tried, she always seemed to find him. Tonight, he had given up trying and was sitting with his back turned to her as she gazed at him. They did not speak—she merely stared while thoughts raced through his head. Thoughts he should not have been having for her—thoughts of lust. Just when he thought that he would be unable to stand another moment of this torture, she turned him to face her, leaning close to press her lips experimentally to his. He reached fumbling fingers up to trace over her cheek. She pressed closer and deepened the kiss, and he was lost. He was drowning in an ocean of need that only she could rescue him from. She did rescue him, and they cried out to each other in that night.

But then he was running from her screams of terror, praying to the God he no longer trusted to never see the vixen Luciana ever again…

He ran to Persia, to a place where women were slaves to men and treachery was as commonplace as breathing. He met Nadir, who took him in, helped him to find a place within the vile Persian court. For once, as a man, he was respected for his music and his magic. So respected was he that he was given the gift of a virgin. Even as the girl trembled on the floor of his chambers, he knew he wanted her but not unless she first succumbed to him. It was on that night that he learned kindness, both from himself and from a woman who knew, even as he moved within her, what his face was.

But then it was done. Not two weeks later, a letter arrived, desperately pleading him to return to France. Collette was in shambles and needed him with her. Jules was dead. She was alone and afraid. She hadn't the money to support herself and her little Meg. Could he please help…

Only after he left Persia did he discover from Nadir, who had been working to clean up the shambles of the life he had left behind, the secrets of the two women he had lain with…

Bellona, the beautiful child named for the Roman goddess of war…

Raja, a child of hope…

His daughters.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1—TINY SECRETS**

Bellona de Rouen was in love. She smiled as she brushed the tangles from her long hair as she looked at the young man lying in her bed. He was so handsome and gentle. No man had ever been so good to her, save for her father, who had taken her away from the abusive woman that had given birth to her and made her comfortable in this little flat in Venice, city of canals. She truly had her father to thank for her good luck in love, for if she had not been in Venice, she would not have had to help the young man from falling out of a gondola. He would not have taken her to dinner to thank her and he would not have kissed her goodnight with the promise of tomorrow. So many tomorrows with this man…

Rising, Bell allowed the bed sheet wrapped around her to fall to the floor. Appraising blue eyes gazed at her lithe form as she crossed the room, bare feet silent on the thick rug. She smiled when he said, "You shouldn't have to get dressed to go out. This is Italy—there're naked statues everywhere and you're much more beautiful than they."

Bell giggled. "You're positively scandalous sometimes, do you know?"

Raoul vaulted from the bed and pressed himself against her back. She gasped as she felt his arousal there. "Come back to bed," he murmured, puling her earlobe into his mouth and suckling on it ever so gently.

She nearly let him as her eyes rolled back into her head and she felt the tell-tale moisture between her thighs, but she knew she could not do as he requested. She had to meet Raja at the boat and post a letter to her father. Father…

"I'm worried about Papa," she said suddenly.

An exasperated sigh greeted these words. "What now?"

"He keeps writing about this girl," she said worriedly. "He says he's in love with her."

"Good," Raoul said. "Maybe if he's in a good mood you can introduce him to me."

"I told you, he hardly leaves Paris," she said. "And in any case, this girl's barely Raja's age. It's a little disturbing. He says she's one of his students."

Abruptly, Raoul let go of her waist. As she worked herself back into the restricting corset, Bell turned around, a small frown creasing her brow. "Darling?"

"I—" Raoul sighed heavily and ran the back of his hand tenderly across her cheek. "I have to go back to France, my love." Her face fell and she saw his heard break. "I don't want to," he said quickly. "My parents need me to go back on their behalf to act as the patron for the opera there."

"Oh."

Strong arms pulled her close. "I want you to come back with me," he whispered desperately. "Raja, too. We can meet your father there and he can meet me and approve of us and we can get married and everything will be—"

"What?" Bell pressed a hand over his lips. "What did you just say to me?"

Raoul leaned his forehead against hers. "Marry me," he whispered.

Her heart was screaming and her mind wouldn't stop racing. "I…" Bell sat down on the stool. "Raoul, I… I don't know what to say to this."

"Tell me you'll think about it. And in the meantime—" He crossed to the dresser, retrieving a small velvet box from a drawer. "Wear this."

The ring he put on her finger was the engagement ring she had been dreaming of for years. The diamond in the middle was surrounded by emeralds that matched her eyes perfectly. He clutched his fingers in hers. "I love you, my darling."

"I love you." She kissed him gently. "And I will think about it."

He smiled. "Thank you. Now get dressed before you miss Raja."

Two months later, after Raoul had been gone from Venice for some time, Raja was awakened by a knock at her door. Sitting up and shoving long, dark hair from her tanned face, Raja watched as her elder sister stepped into the room. She was dressed plainly in Persian skirts that Raja had brought for her and the look on her face was terrified. She was clutching a letter in her hand. Mutely, she handed it to her Raja.

"It's from Collette."

"Giry?"

"Yes."

Raja felt an uncomfortable wrench in the region of her stomach. Collette never wrote unless she was extremely concerned about their father or if it were once of their birthdays. Since neither of them had been born anywhere near the current date, it could only be assumed that something was amiss.

"She says she hasn't seen papa in a month. He hasn't come out of his apartment and he's been in a rage since before then. She thinks it has to do with that girl, Christine. She's engaged."

"Allah," Raja breathed. "Papa's temper…"

"I know," Bell said softly. There were tears down her face. "He hasn't written either of us in some time—I thought perhaps he was just busy with composition. And now…" She let out a sob. "I haven't heard anything from Raoul in over a month. I wrote him at the address he gave me, but the letters keep coming back, saying he's not there, and he never answered when I sent them to his parents. What if he changed his mind?"

"He wouldn't dare," Raja said gently. "And in any case, we should away to Paris at once."

"But I can't travel!" Bell blurted before slapping a hand over her mouth.

Raja's eyes narrowed. "You're keeping something from me."

Bell lowered her hands and looked at her younger sister, tears still streaming down her face. She reached out for the other girls hands before she whispered, "If papa sees me, he'll be furious."

"Why?"

"I'm pregnant."

_a/n I'm going to try to update as much as I can this weekend to get the ball rolling. To be honest, though, I don't know how long or short this story will be, so bear with me. Love you all!_


	3. Chapter 2

_a/n I just realized something I think I should explain. This first bit is going to move a bit quickly. After the story we already know, it'll slow down._

**CHAPTER 2—BITTER**

Erik was furious. Never in his life had fury and pain become so intertwined within him to the point where he felt he had nothing to live for. He crashed about the house on the lake, writing furiously, sleeping and eating very little. The lying little…

No, this was not her fault. It all boiled back down to that damn boy. If he had never come, none of this would have happened. But no, here he was fresh faced and handsome. He _hated_ that boy—hoped he'd rot in hell, but knew he wouldn't.

_Minor third?_ _No, that's not dissonant enough. It needs more…something._

He scribbled down the notes on the page, the passion flowing from him onto the score in front of him. Nearly finished—he'd certainly be done in time for the New Years ball. Pausing, he thought he heard something on the opposite end of the house. Jumping almost catlike across the room, he skulked in the shadows, ready to attack the intruder. Just as he readied his lasso, the man entered. Erik barely had time to stop himself before he nearly strangled his friend.

"Damn it, man, don't you know it's only me?" Nadir looked furious as he waved a stack of envelopes in front of his face. "I've been leaving you your mail and you haven't even looked. Don't you know those girls of yours write you at least twice a week?"

The lasso fell from his hand as Erik snatched the letters from his precious girls from the hands of his friend. Indeed, there were a great deal, from Bell more than Raja. He tore open the top one. It was from Bell and dated two months ago. His heart fell as he read how worried she was for him, how Collette had written to say that he had not contacted her in sometime. The rest of the letters were more of the same, becoming more and more frantic the later the dates. The last one, though, sent his brain reeling.

_9 January 2005_

_Dearest Papa,_

_Where in heavens name are you? Raja and I are past the point of being a bit concerned. You have not written in months and we receive more and more letters from Collette each week as your lack of correspondence wears on. Are you angry with us? Have we all done something so offensive that you do not even send money to support your only family? I have not been able to pay the rent for the last three months and am being evicted. We have nowhere to go, so we shall be traveling by train to Paris on the fifteenth. Until them, I am banking on the hospitality of a friend. I doubt you will meet us there as you seem to have no wish to speak to either of us. Perhaps we will sleep on the platform for another three months until you arrive._

_Sincerely,_

_Your_ _Bellona_

Erik had forgotten the temper she had, that girl. Everything so personal. Still, though, he should have remembered to send her rent money. He felt positively wretched, but was terrified at the prospect of his daughters coming to see him. They knew very little of the truth about his life—he knew that, if they did know, that Bellona would likely kill him for his stupidity.

"What is the date?" he barked.

"The fifteenth."

Quickly, Erik grabbed for his cloak and rushed to the back entrance on the Rue Scribe. It was dark—evening had fallen. He'd no idea what time the girls would arrive, and he quickly hailed a passing cab. Pulling a fedora down over his face, Erik barked at the man to take him to the train station. The entire way there, Erik flipped through the various letters from his daughters. He knew he would have to keep them at Nadir's—this had already been discussed a long time before. The only problem would be explaining his absence from the apartment. All too soon, he was there.

After a quick search of the various platforms, he was beginning to get nervous. Then he saw them. They were sitting alone on a platform and Erik chuckled at Bell's hand, which was hidden under a blanket and which he was almost positive held her pistol. As he approached, he was proved correct. At the sound of someone approaching, her hand whipped out the gun and pointed it at him. He raised his hands, smiling. Bell did not smile back—she merely glared.

"So you do read your mail," she said softly, not wanting to wake her sleeping sister.

"Forgive me, my child. I haven't been a very good father as of late."

Bellona rose to her feet and embraced him, her anger melting from her face. "I love you papa."

As he held his daughter, he noticed something odd. She was tall—she had always been—and had never been overweight. Now, she seemed to be gaining weight around her middle. He didn't want to say anything, but he saw no trace of weight gain in any other part of her body.

"Are you alright?"

Bell pulled away from him as if she had been burned. "I'm fine."

"You're sure? You feel a bit…"

"We'll talk about this when we're home." Kneeling down, she gave Raja a gentle shake. "Time to wake up, beautiful girl."

Raja's eyes, which matched her sister's and father's, opened, and she blinked sleepily before smiling. "Papa," she murmured. She pushed herself to her feet and wrapped her arms about him. As he held the tiny girl to him, it seemed as if she, unlike her sister, had lost weight. Odd, he thought, for someone who never gained weight to gain weight while still looking so pale.

As Bell reached for a suitcase, Raja shook her head. "Papa can carry that," she said gently. "You shouldn't lift that right now."

"It's not that heavy."

"It's not good for you."

Bell glared at her younger sister, whose unwavering calm seemed to unnerve her. She shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said forcefully.

Raja looked at their father quickly before she shoved the suitcase toward him. "Will you carry it? It's quite heavy."

"Is this everything?"

"No," Bell said, picking up a small satchel. "The rest is coming tomorrow."

"Right." Erik kicked up the suitcase Raja had shoved at him and led them back to the waiting coach. As he helped them in, the surreal haze of the situation began to die away and he truly realized that his precious gems were here with him. These young women were not a burden. They were his babies—his darlings.

Raja wasted no time at all in snuggling up into her father's shoulder and falling back asleep. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer, kissing the long dark tresses she had inherited from her mother, whispering, "I love you, dearest."

Bell smiled at the picture before her before she looked out of the window. There was a faraway look in her eyes and she heaved a sigh before she said, "I had to sell the piano for money for food and the train tickets."

Erik's head snapped up. Had things truly gotten so bad? Ever since she had been old enough to stand on the bench, which was as long as he had known her, she had loved to play the piano. When she had been in the care of a nurse in Venice after he had removed her from the care, or lack thereof, of her mother, the nurse had written that all the child seemed to want to do was to play the music he sent for her to practice. He felt horrible. The grand piano she had managed to cram into her flat was nothing compared to the small upright Nadir kept. He reached for the hand of his oldest daughter and she tightened her fingers about his before she let out another heavy sigh.

"I must tell you something," she said softly.

"Tell me you've left that blasted man of yours behind in Venice," he said, but he regretted the words as soon as they came from his lips. She looked both crestfallen and enraged at them.

"That _blasted man_ left me to go to Paris and I haven't heard him since," she spat. "I suppose you don't care that I'm having his child."

The ride home after that was heavy with silence.

_a/n After this, we go to the characters you know and love a bit more. Keep hanging in there!_


	4. Chapter 3

_a/n Ok. Here we go. Things should start going a bit slower now._

**CHAPTER 3—RAGE LIKE HER FATHER**

His hands were clasped in front of him as he wept on his knees. He _hurt_. He hated to think it, but he was not the same without her. Only she could make him think of such unholy things while kneeling before God. Not once, in four months, had Bell written to him. He wrote her once, and no reply had been sent. Bitter, he had sought refuge and solace in the arms of another woman, one he had known as a child, and now they were engaged. What was the _matter_ with him? He loved Christine, but if Bell came back to him he did not know what he would do. God have mercy if she ever found out about Christine—her temper was as bad as her father's sounded. Sweet as she could be, she had been known to turn in a moment.

Tonight, he would be with Christine. The masquerade ball was prepared and he was to attend with her at his side. It was truly bittersweet, but he would continue to fight for her. Thankfully, that demon they called the Phantom had not shown his face in the opera house since _Il_ _Mutto._ If he did, though, he would protect Christine with his life if he had to.

Rising, Raoul wiped the tears from his face, crossed himself, and exited the cathedral. He raced home, dressing hurriedly. Just as he was putting the finishing touches on his costume, there was a knock on his door and Christine came in, smiling from ear to ear. She looked beautiful in a pink ball gown as she leaned against the door.

"I hope you're almost ready," she breathed. "I can't wait to see Meg!"

Raoul smiled at her and crossed to the door. Kissing her, he pulled her toward him and away from the door. "Let's go, darling."

Entering the Opera Populair was like meeting with a wall of noise and color. Raoul smiled down at Christine, shoving all thoughts of Bell from his head, knowing that if he accomplished this, he'd have a much better time.

Little did he know, though, that pushing Bellona from his mind would do nothing to make her go farther away. She was there, looking for him…

Bell had heard about the ball from her father, who had been sparsely seen in the week that she and her sister had been in Paris. Knowing that Raoul was the patron, she knew it was highly probable that we would be there. But even as she dressed in her sister's Persian garb and snuck out, saying she was sleeping, she could not have prepared herself for what lie ahead.

The walk to the opera house gave her a great deal of time to think. She hoped he wouldn't be upset—she was sure that he'd understand that she'd tried to write to him. She thought back on the times they had spent together. The times they had laughed, shouted, cried, loved… She gently touched her growing belly with reverent fingers and smiled as she thought of the child, their child, that grew inside of her even as she walked. Four months. For four months this feeling had been with her, even before she knew what it was.

She missed him so much sometimes that it hurt. Tonight, she hoped, everything would change. Tonight he would lie with her again, their joined hands resting on her swollen belly, limbs still tangled from love making.

After sneaking into the opera house, which proved to be surprisingly easy, Bell began her search. There were couples everywhere, and where there weren't dancers there were whispering groups. Curious, she pulled Raja's veil more securely over her face and stepped over to listen to a man speaking in the closest group.

"…and no one's heard from him in three months. It's been so relaxing to not have him lurking around."

"But you can't think he means to come back tonight?" said a woman standing near him.

"I most certainly do. From what I hear of the Phantom, he's not one to sit about and do nothing when his orders are denied."

_Phantom?_ What in hell was this man talking about?

But anything else concerning the Phantom was washed from her brain in a heartbeat that seemed to last a lifetime. There he was. He looked so handsome in his military uniform. But what made her breath catch was what was on his arm. She was _stunning_. A vision in a pink ball gown. And thin. They were spinning around the floor, then, and she watched them as she rested a hand on her belly. She wasn't thin like that anymore. The girlish blush was gone from her face. This girl—she looked so _young_. Sixteen or seventeen at most. An enormous ring, one that Bell could only guess to be an engagement ring, hung on a chain around her neck as if she thought she could hide it in her cleavage, Bell thought bitterly. Yes, she had more cleavage, but it was starting to become heavier with pregnancy. What did it matter? She was broken, now.

Bell was so lost in her thoughts that she did not hear the orchestra stop playing, or the gasps from the people in front of her. She had slunk up against a far wall and was only jolted from her thoughts when she heard her father's voice. Confused, she stepped forward, careful not to draw any attention to herself. Raoul was gone. The girl—his fiancée—was alone in the middle of the floor staring horrified at a man standing up on the stairs. He was dressed all in red and a mask covered the top of his face, but what did it matter? That man pointing a sword at the members of the company could only be one person.

"Papa," she whispered, and tears flowed down her face as her heart broke all over again. This man looked just like her father—sounded like her father. But how could he be? Her father was a good man—a bit temperamental, but he would never hurt anyone. Now here he was, threatening the opera's managers at the tip of a sword. Where was the man who threw scrambled eggs across the table at her when she smarted off? The man who kept her and her sister alive with his love…

Then he was at the bottom of the stairs in front of the girl in pink and the sneer was gone from his face. He looked—in love. She had never seen him like that before. _This_ was her father. But then…

"Your chains are still mine!" he barked at her, ripping the chain and ring from her neck. Then he hissed, "You belong to _me_."

Bell did not know what else happened, because she was running from the house. As soon as she was in the ally, she vomited.

_Christine._

That girl—the one Raoul had looked so in love with. She was the woman that had torn her father's affection from her and Raja. She was the woman that had broken her beloved father's heart. Rage such as she had never known, rage like that her father had just shown, boiled in her veins. Pain was tearing her heart to pieces. All she could think was one thing—

_Christine must die._


	5. Chapter 4

_a/n A bit of graphic stuff here, including sex and alcohol._

**CHAPTER 4—MUSINGS**

Alcohol was a wonderful thing when one wanted to forget painful things. Erik reclined on the bed with a bottle of good Russian vodka in his hand and took a swig before letting out a terrific moan. This girl—Annette, he thought her name was—she always did the most wonderful things to him. Looking down, he watched her as she worked her magic on him with her full lips and warm, darting tongue and he twined his fingers in her hair as he forced himself further into her little mouth. He didn't see her, though. It was Christine he saw kneeling between his legs. The very thought of her doing these things to him was almost too much, and he pulled the prostitute from the floor and threw her onto the bed, lest he release before getting what he really wanted. As he slammed into her beautiful body over and over, he called out to Christine in the night and the whore beneath him said nothing to correct him. He careened over the edge and collapsed on top of her, trying desperately to catch his breath. After a moment, he rolled off, reaching for the vodka on the bedside table.

"Was that a good fuck for you then, Monsieur?"

Erik did not answer the girl. He reached for his pants, pulling them on and reaching into the pocket. Onto the bed he tossed ten francs and she smiled.

"Would you like a short reprise, then?"

"Shut up," Erik said, but he was not harsh. He was never harsh to her—she was, after all, his favorite of the girls in this brothel. He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up while she tidied herself up.

Annette smiled coyly. "Bad night, then?"

Erik gave a brief nod as he did up his shoes. He looked around for the vodka and picked it up. He tipped his hat at the girl. "Shall I send up your next victim?"

"Oh, no," she said, running her hand down her chest. "I'm taking the rest of the night off. Always do when you stop in."

He nodded and stumbled drunkenly from the room. When he reached the stairs, Madame Josephine was waiting for him as always to ask, "When will we again be enjoying your company again, Monsieur?"

"Whenever I need a good fuck, Madam," he growled, shoving past her and making his way down the stairs. As he exited, he looked around. It was getting too cold to walk back to the opera house—he may as well go to Nadir's. Taking yet another drink of vodka, he turned to his right and staggered down the street to the little apartment overlooking the street below.

Making his way inside, he cursed as he tripped over the doormat. "Damn thing," he muttered, kicking his shoes off and putting the vodka on the table. He began to search for a match, but at that moment, there was a sudden burst of light and a lamp sitting on the table lit up. In its dim light, he saw the one woman he had prayed to God never to meet with when intoxicated and fresh from a brothel.

If there had ever been a time when she had looked ready to commit murder, it was right then. The look on Bellona's face was nothing short of furious. Leaning across the table, she grabbed the vodka bottle and glared at him.

"You're drunk."

Erik managed to shake his head. "No," he said slowly. "I don't drink."

"Fuck you!" she screamed, and she threw the half-empty bottle into the sink where it shattered. "Don't lie to me!"

The sober corner of his mind told him not to say anything. He knew Bellona hated alcohol. As a child, she had been beaten by Luciana, who had turned to alcohol to escape the reality that she had given birth to the daughter of a monster. The woman had died not three years ago, a victim of the drink she loved so dearly. But tonight, it was the drunken side of his brain that prevailed.

"You be quiet," he growled. "I give you everything you want—spoil you rotten. This is all I get when I come home—no thanks, just a pissed yell."

Bellona shook her head in disbelief. "When in my life did I ever ask you to help me? You _offered_. You came and took me and dumped me in Venice and kept sending money. I never once asked you for it!"

"You—"

"What's going on?"

Both of them turned to see Raja standing in her nightgown, rubbing her eyes and looking confused. "I heard shouting," she muttered.

"It's nothing, Raja," Bellona said darkly. "Papa's drunk is all."

Raja heaved a sigh and passed a weary hand across her face. "You shouldn't be getting worked up, Bellona," she said softly. "It's not good for the baby. Papa, you should go to bed."

Bellona stormed from the room, leaving the lamp on the table. Raja picked it up and hoisted her father's arm over her shoulder. "Come on, now," she said softly.

Erik remembered little else from then on. He recalled collapsing onto the bed, then saying he felt ill. He vaguely remembered Raja shoving his head into a chamber pot and vomiting, then nothing.

When he awoke the next morning, the curtains were drawn and his head was pounding. There was a knock on his door.

"Come in," he croaked, pulling a pillow over his head.

The door opened and he heard heavy footsteps that could only belong to Nadir. There was a small clink and Erik peered out from under his pillow. Nadir smiled at him.

"Don't you want to face the beautiful day outside?" he asked, and he threw open the curtains. Erik braced himself for the sunlight, but it didn't come. God bless the skies—it was _pouring_. Nadir smiled again. "Do you think I would truly do such a thing to you?"

"Yes," Erik said. "I'd deserve it. Did I do anything stupid last night?"

"You came home piss drunk and yelled at Bellona and you both woke up Raja and me."

Erik groaned and leaned back against the pillows. "It was not a good night."

"So I read." Nadir tossed a newspaper onto Erik's knees. The headline read, "Populair's Phantoms" and a story followed below full to the brim with garbage that he had nearly killed ten people before once again kidnapping the opera's diva, Christine Daae. He didn't even bother to read it—he tossed it onto the floor beside the bed and reached for the coffee his friend had brought him. At that moment, there was a crash, followed by a loud swear from the living room. As much as it pained him to do so, Erik pushed himself out of bed to tend to his daughter.

Upon entering the room, Erik found Bellona sitting on the floor surrounded by stacks of sheet music, glowering. Her sour look did not leave when he smiled weakly.

"What?"

"I heard you shout," he said, kneeling down and helping her to pick up the music. "What happened?"

"Clumsy," she said. "I've been up since five."

"Why?"

"I had to throw up," she said. "And I couldn't really sleep anyway."

"Are you feeling alright?"

Bell gave him an odd look. "I'm four months pregnant and getting fatter every day. Of course not."

Music stacked neatly on the bench, Erik held out his hands to pull her to her feet. "I'm sorry, my love."

She sighed heavily, wishing she could tell him what she was truly thinking about last night. Instead, she said, "Don't do it again."

"I won't."

He left, and Bellona was alone again. She had been awake since five, but she could have gone asleep. Instead, she had spent the early hours before dawn too bitter to sleep, thinking horrible thoughts of how it would be to hold a gun to the head of that backstabbing bitch, Christine, and end her life. Then, to make things worse, she began to think of how she would hide the body. It was recalling these thoughts that had distracted her from what she had been doing just now. She looked out of the window toward the opera house. Maybe Raoul was there now, coupling with her. Maybe it was _her _name going through his head instead of Christine's.

Raoul was, in reality, at home drinking tea with an exhausted Christine. Indeed he had attempted to coax Christine into bed, but she had refused, saying she was not yet ready—no respectable woman made love before her marriage, after all, she had said. This had annoyed Raoul—Bellona had been respectable. His parents had actually been a bit upset at her apparent refusal. She was, after all, wealthier than Christine. He wasn't sure what her father did for a living, but it was apparently quite respectable. Bell had always lived in a posh apartment with everything she had wanted. She had worn beautiful clothes and had beautiful things and had beautiful dreams and morals. She was anything but whore-ish, for lack of a better word. She had simply loved him. But she had played him, hadn't she?

There was a clink of china and Raoul looked up to see Christine smiling pleasantly at him. He smiled back and asked, "What would you like to do today?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "It's so dreadful outside, isn't it? And there isn't really a great deal of time to do anything. Rehearsal starts today." She shuddered. "I wish I didn't have to do this opera, Raoul."

"Then don't."

"I can't _not_, Raoul!" She looked scandalized. "He'd be furious."

Raoul stewed for a bit, gritting his teeth while she was oblivious in her fears. He loved Christine—he was sure of it. But there were times when he wondered if proposing marriage had been going a bit too far. After all, who _really_ married their childhood sweetheart?

"Come," he said abruptly. "We should get you back. I'll stay as long as I can."

She smiled, and went to fetch her things. He watched her go, his heart heavy as if it were made of lead.

He loved two women, and before long, he would have to make a choice. Stay with Christine, who accepted him, or attempt to track down Bell, who seemed to have dropped off of the face of the earth.

If only he knew…

_a/n Thanks for the reviews! I love it! Peace out, and keep 'em coming._


	6. Chapter 5

_a/n Here's another chapter to add to the drama. Rock out, on, and hard._

**CHAPTER 5—NOT LIKE THIS**

She needed to get out. She couldn't stand being cooped up in her room all day with Raoul sitting on guard outside the door. Nothing bad had happened in the last two months, and it seemed that nothing ever would. She had to go.

It was amazing how easy it was to sneak out. Raoul had fallen asleep, and she glanced at him as she silently descended the spiral staircase. How had it come to this? Raoul had become so fiercely protective that it was frightening. Christine knew, though, that as long as there were no notes about her from the Phantom that nothing would happen. All that she feared was coming in a month, when it came time for opening night. That was all she truly feared—him taking her as soon as she had sung his opera.

Paying the carriage driver, she told him she wished to go to the cemetery. She pulled on a dress from the costume shop over her nightgown and adorned her cloak. On her way out, she grabbed some flowers that were sitting as a decoration next to the door to place on her father's grave. So preoccupied was she that she failed to notice how much taller the driver had grown in the two minutes she had been gone…

* * *

Odd. That was the only word that described her father's behavior over the last few weeks. He would disappear for days at a time, only to reappear at the apartment more eccentric than he had before. The only thing that had brought a smile to his face since that night at the opera house, which she still had not mentioned to him, was to feel the tiny flutters from the child growing in her belly. She was six months in, now, and was losing sight of her feet due to her swollen belly. Nadir affectionately called it her living bump, although she thought it was a great deal more than a bump. 

The gray sky outside did nothing to help her disheartened mood. Sighing heavily, she passed a hand over her stomach, feeling her baby kicking against her palm, and thought of Raoul. The feelings of hate she had for Christine had only intensified as she watched her father become more and more depressed with each passing day. The girl deserved to die a painful death and burn in a thousand hells. No one should ever hurt a man as much as Christine had hurt her father.

At that moment, her father came rushing into her room. "Are you alright?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He didn't answer. "I'm leaving," he said, and he left the room in a blur.

Bellona knew that she shouldn't pry into her father's business, but his odd behavior was beginning to frighten her. Quietly, as her father barged around the apartment looking for God knew what, she quietly pulled on a warmer dress, making sure that her torso would remain warm, and a thick cloak. She adorned heavy mittens and boots before sneaking out to the back of the apartment and heading quietly down the stairs. Smiling at the neighbor, she was able to borrow a horse for a small fee, and as her father stormed from the apartment and into a waiting cab, she followed him at a distance.

He was going back to the opera house. Swinging from the carriage, he blended into the shadows, as Bellona did her best to do the same. She watched as he glanced upward and smiled darkly. Watching in fascinated horror, Bellona saw Christine emerge from the back and into the stables, dressed in a nightgown with a shawl pulled tightly around her. She gave the stableman a bit of money and went back inside. In the minute or two she was gone, Bell saw something that made her realize exactly how troubled her father was. Taking what looked like a folded up riding whip, he emerged quickly from the shadows, hitting the other man on the back of the head and knocking him unconscious. Pulling his hood up, he hid his face behind his cloak as Christine came back out and climbed into the carriage.

"To my father's grave, please," she heard the other girl say, and then they were off, riding quickly down the foggy street.

When they were about to disappear from sight, she began to follow, hoping that they couldn't hear her over the rattling of the wheels and their horses. The last thing she wanted was her father's rage to befall her. When she realized _which_ cemetery they were going to, she turned off the road, knowing of another, shorter way there. She arrived in what felt an instant, and just as instantly realized that she had no idea where exactly they had gone. She had searched for several minutes and was ready to give up and go home—she felt horrible as it was—when she heard a voice that tore at her heart.

"Christine! Wait!" It was Raoul. Bell climbed down awkwardly from the horse, tying it to a nearby grave, and rushed as quickly as she could toward his voice. She heard him again, then. "This man, this _thing_ is not your father."

Bellona peeked out between two graves about a hundred feet from him and watched, terrified, as her own father leapt toward the man she loved with everything she had, brandishing a sword. Her stomach plummeted as Raoul drew as well. They fought, and Bellona felt as if her heart was being crushed inside her chest as she watched her father and lover trying to kill each other over someone she despised. She wished she had a gun so she could shoot the damned whore where she stood—then, both of them would be hers again.

At that moment, something happened and her father went tumbling to the snow. Sometime during her musings, Raoul's arm had been cut, but now he looked furious and ready to run her father through. She felt she would faint. It was time for this charade to end—if she spoke out now, no one, not even the bitch, would be killed. Raoul would return to her and her father would not be killed. But just before she stepped from her hiding place, Christine said the one thing that made the part of Bell's brain telling her to kill the girl to do so without delay.

"No, Roaul!" She looked terrified. "No. Not like this…"

_Not like this._ Those words would ring forever in Bellona de Rouen's mind as words that would never be forgotten or forgiven. She may as well have said, "Yes, you can kill him, but let it be fair and not in front of my father's grave."

_Not like this_. Three words that lit a fire of rage inside Bell, and apparently, by the look on his face, inside her father, as well.

Then Raoul was sheathing his sword and pulling Christine onto the horse behind him, leaving her father behind them. She ducked again as not to be seen by Raoul, although she wasn't sure why. As they left, she heard her father say words that terrified her even more.

"Now, let it be war upon you both." Then he shook off his cloak and turned away.

Bell walked slowly and silently back to the horse that was waiting in the cold, listening carefully to make sure that everyone had gone before she maneuvered herself awkwardly back onto the horse. If her father saw her come home on horseback, he'd likely kill her. As she rode back into Paris and to her street, she slid down, stepping into the alley and tying the horse back up at her neighbor's home. She looked up at the window of her father's room—it was dark. Quietly, she climbed back up the stairs and into the back door of the flat. Seeing no one, she went back to her room. Removing the incriminating clothing she wore, she changed back into a day dress and slippers. Picking up a ball of yarn and knitting needles, she walked to the sitting room to see if her father would return.

Amazingly, he did. It was several hours before he did, but suddenly he was there, hanging up his cloak with an air of forced calm. As she began to finish the scarf she was knitting for him, Bell looked over at Nadir, who was buried behind the paper. The page was due to turn any second. It did not.

Erik walked into the room and sat down next to her, pulling her close and pressing his lips against her hair. Surprised, Bell hugged him back as he rocked her in his arms. "I love you, my darling," he whispered. His voice was so full of pain that she nearly began to cry.

Forcing a smile, she pulled back and kissed his cheek. "I love you, too, papa."

He gave her an exhausted quirk of his lips in return as Raja entered the room to see him. He rose, lifting her tiny feet off the floor. She smiled. "I made fish for supper, papa, are you hungry?"

"Starved," he said. He had every appearance of cheerfulness, but she could see pain in his eyes. Glancing at Nadir, she gave him a quizzical look. He was looking over the top of his paper and he gave his head the tiniest of shakes to indicate not to ask. She did not need to ask, though—she merely wanted to know if she was the only one who saw the agony inside of him.

Or maybe it was only her, since heartbreak was an agony she knew of all too well.

_a/n Keep reviewing—I love it oh so much._


	7. Chapter 6

_a/n Two in one weekend? Coincidence? I think not. I merely refuse to begin my Mozart speech until the time for procrastination (which I work best in) is upon me. This chapter is insanely long because I couldn't quite decide where to transition to a new one. Therefore, it's, like, two in one. Party on._

**CHAPTER 6—REVELATIONS**

It hurt to think that he might not see his daughters for several weeks. Tonight was opening night, and who knew what would happen? If things went his way, Christine would succumb to him tonight. He would take her away to a house he had purchased quietly. It was two hours from Paris, in the middle of two hundred acres of the most charming French countryside. She would love it there, and when things had quieted down, he would send for his darling girls, and they would all live happily together.

Nadir's flat was relatively quiet that evening. Raja was darning everyone's socks in the sitting room while Nadir was out on business. Erik quietly opened the door to check on Bell. She was sitting at her desk writing a letter—to whom, he had no idea, for as soon as he entered, she folded it up and stuffed it into an envelope. Smiling, she turned on her chair and held out her hands. He pulled her to her feet, smiling down at her.

She truly was beautiful, even with her cheeks a bit puffy and everything, from her belly to her feet, swollen from seven months of pregnancy. She kept saying she looked like a cow, but Erik thought his eldest child to be radiant. Soon, she would turn twenty and he feared that she would be alone for the rest of her days. Men did not want to marry the mother of a bastard child. It was cruel, but it was the way of society. She had mentioned an idea of saying she had been widowed, which may help things along a bit, if she could never find the man who had never written her. Erik did not think she ever would, but she refused to give up hope. She had begun to wear her engagement ring on a chain about her neck, as her fingers were too swollen to fit it on, and it seemed as if she were keeping something from him. One day, not two weeks ago, he had asked her if she had tried to write to her man.

"Oh, no," she said, waving a hand vaguely, taking care not to inflict harm on anyone with the cleaver it held, "but I don't think it will be much longer before he's here. We shall see what happens in the next few weeks."

She had refused to further breach the subject, and the angry glint in her eyes had startled Erik. Perhaps it was merely the hormones of her pregnancy, but he was beginning to think that it was not. The look in her eyes when she would stare out the window was one of pain and rage—the same look that had haunted him. She couldn't possibly know about Christine. The Bell he knew would have struck him down like the goddess she was named for if she knew. Unless there was something else she was not telling him…

"Papa?"

Her sweet voice jolted him from his thoughts and he looked down to see her staring quizzically up at him. "Hmm?"

"I only asked what your plans were for this evening. I heard the most terribly wonderful stories about some opera that is to open tonight, and I know how fond you are of opera. I wondered if you would like to see it."

If there was a ninth level of hell, it was there Erik's stomach was at that moment. "No!" he cried. Forcing himself to be calm, he said more reasonably, "No, dear, I really do not think it wise for you to be out on the streets in your condition. Especially not at some opera said to be written in the manner of the Marquis de Sade."

"Really." There was that glint in her eye again—the one that scared the hell out of him and made him thankful that she did not have that cleaver in her hand.

"Really. You should go sit with your sister. In any case, I'm afraid I would be unable to go with you in any case. I have business I must attend to."

She turned away and looked out of the window. The sun would be setting in an hour. "Isn't it late for business?"

"Not too late for dinner," he said. Leaning forward he pressed a kiss against her flushed forehead and smiled down at her. "I love you, my dear. I will see you when I return. Don't wait up for me—you need your rest." Then he was gone.

Little did he know, though, that Bellona had already purchased one ticket for the opera several weeks ago. She would be sitting toward the back of the theater. She had even gone so far as to purchase a black opera gown made for a woman in her condition with money she had been saving from her weekly allowances for the last two months. When she heard the door shut, she stepped out of the room, knowing she would hate herself tomorrow and that Raja would never forgive her for this. She went to the kitchen, put on a pot of tea, and set it to boiling. Reaching into a pocket of her muslin skirt, she removed a small bottle. It was a sedative, one that her father sometimes used when he wanted to fall asleep quickly. It was harmless, and a small dose would put Raja to sleep long enough for Bell to sneak out.

Tea boiled, she poured two cups, careful to remember which was Raja's and which was hers. She walked with the cups down the hall and into the sitting room, where Raja was just finishing Nadir's socks. Bell smiled weakly down at her younger sister.

"I thought you might want some tea, you've been sitting here so long."

Raja smiled prettily. "I'd love some, thank you." She took the offending cup and immediately took a sip. She hummed and smiled. "It's good," she said.

Ten minutes later, they had finished their tea. Bell took the cups back into the kitchen and busied herself for several minutes cleaning them out and brushing tears of guilt from her face. When she passed by the sitting room again, her baby sister was slumped, sleeping, on the couch, still holding a sock. Bell felt horrible as she dressed to go to the opera, but she tried to forget as she focused on the task ahead.

Looking in the mirror, she gave a satisfied smile. The dress was one she could actually move in, and as such, the billowing skirts hid her belly well enough that she looked much less pregnant—maybe only four months in. Pulling on gloves, she reached for her hand bag. It was heavy, but with good reason—it carried a revolver inside. God knew what she would need a gun for, but she felt safer being alone with a gun than alone with nothing but an empty handbag.

Stepping out into the street, she raised an elegant hand to hail a cab. One pulled up next to her and she smiled at the driver. Noticing her condition, the man hopped down and offered a hand to help her up. "Where to, Madam?"

She did not think to correct him—what would someone think of a pregnant mademoiselle? "To the opera, please."

"Are we waiting for your husband?"

"Oh, no, he's already there. He had business to take care of before hand."

The door shut and the carriage began to move. She stared out the window at the now darkened sky as the carriage carried her closer to Raoul. Millions of random thoughts were rushing through her head at once and she could not slow them down. What if her father saw her? What if Raoul saw her? Or worse, what if her father saw Raoul seeing her?

The carriage halted and the driver hopped down to open the door for her. She climbed out with his assistance, looking up at the opera house. Memories of the last time she had been here flooded over her. Raoul and Christine, her father…

She shook her head briefly and entered the grand building. After showing her ticket, she was shown to her seat by a young usher. Settling herself in, she glanced at her program. Christine was indeed cast as the lead role. Bell vaguely recognized the name of the man playing Don Juan as the man her father had ordered to lose weight. At that moment, though, the angriest, yet most sensual music, Bell had ever heard burst out from the orchestra pit and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Glancing around, she could not see Raoul at a moment's glance, but after a minute she had stopped looking. Christine was on the stage, and as much as Bell hated the girl, she had to admit that the younger woman took her breath away. Her voice was the sound of perfection.

_Father taught her well,_ she thought, as Christine crossed the stage as Aminta. She was so wrapped up in jealousy that she only noticed something had changed when Christine turned, looking toward the other end of the stage with a look of what could only be described as sexuality. Looking over, Bell's hand flew over her mouth in shock and horror as she saw her father crossing the stage toward Christine. She watched, back and forth between the two. Christine gazed upward for a moment, and Bell followed her gaze. Leaning forward as best she could, she saw Raoul sitting in a box flanked by police. He motioned toward two men sitting on the opposite tier, and the police slowly changed their positions. Then Christine was walking toward her father, and up the stairs. This was a side Bellona had never wanted to see of her father. He pulled Christine to him, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her hand up across her chest to her throat. Bell's eyes filled with tears of pain and anger as she saw Raoul slowly rise to his feet, jealousy and fear written all over his handsome face.

Then the music stopped and her father's voice, barely audible, flowed over her ears.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me—save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go to!"

Christine's face was covered with a saddened look of love as she reached up and tore her father's only safety from him. Everyone around her screamed in terror, but Bellona merely glared at the girl. No matter how sorry she looked, there was nothing Christine could say or do at this point that could fix things. Her father looked alternately betrayed, heartbroken, and enraged. Looking to his right, he pulled out the sword that adorned his costume and took a chop and one rope, which made something begin to rattle loudly, then another, and he dropped with Christine below the stage.

Bell heard a terrible clatter above her, and looked up, horrified, to see the chandelier of all things coming toward the stage. Everyone around her was running, but she couldn't get out of her seat. She couldn't get to her feet. Someone pulled her to her feet and ushered her out. She stood in the swirl of screaming people outside the theater in the entrance way, too shocked to move. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but suddenly someone was pulling on her hand.

"Come, child, we must get you out of here!" It was Collette Giry.

She pulled Bellona from the burning opera house. People all over were screaming, but Bell pulled Collette closer. "Where is my father?"

Collette's face registered shock and fear. "Child, you must return home. There's nothing you can—"

"I have to find him!" she cried. "Where is he?"

"I—" Collette looked terrified. "I sent le Vicomte de Chagny down to find Christine, but I can only imagine where he is."

_Raoul_. But… "Down where?" she asked, confused.

Collette looked ready to cry. She pressed a key into Bell's hand. "Go to the back of the opera house. There is a locked gate that this key will open. Go through it, and take care to lock it behind you. Then turn a bit to your left. You will see a door. Go inside it and you will find a lantern with several matches on the right. Light it then follow the tunnel down. You will find a two-way mirror. There is where you will find your father. I would help you, but I must find Meg—I've no idea where she's gone to."

"Thank you," Bell said. She squeezed the older woman's hand. "And God be with you."

"And with you."

They departed, and Bellona went as quickly as she could to the back. She paused at the door to the tunnel, placing a hand on her belly. She could feel the baby stirring, and she forced herself to relax. Breathing back to normal, she stepped inside, lit the lantern, and walked slowly down the damp tunnel. She could barely see two feet in front of her, but suddenly the slant began to become less and she turned a bend to face the mirror.

The mirror seemed to be covered by something, but she could see a bit from the edge. She was looking into a world the likes of which she had never seen. What could only be described as a house sat on the banks of an underwater lake. A gondola was moored on the shore, and in front of a massive organ, her father was staggering away from the water. She could not hear him, but she followed his gaze and hand gestures to see Christine in the lake wearing, of all things, a wedding dress, walking toward Raoul, who was tied to a gate with a noose around his neck. Christine embraced him, and proceeded to untie him. She heard a muffled shout—her father was sending them away. It didn't make any sense, though. Why would he send Christine away? Bell began to run her hand along the sides of the mirror, looking for a latch of any kind to stop them. She watched, frantic, as her lover climbed into the boat with the diva and began to row away. Bell began to panic, then forced herself to calm down again—this could _not_ be good for her.

Reaching calmly into her handbag, she pulled out her gun and was just about to shoot out the glass when whatever was in the mirror was pulled back. She dropped the lantern in surprise and jumped back a bit, finding herself staring at the distorted face of her father. He raised a candlestick and slammed it into the mirror. It shattered, and he glanced back for a moment before climbing through.

He was a mess. His wig was off, showing the soft ash brown hair that was truly his, and tears were running down his deformed face. He did not seem to see her and he walked right past her. He only paused when he stepped on the glass of the lantern. He didn't move for a second and Bell reached a tentative hand forward to rest on his arm. He seized her hand and made to seize her, but she cried out to him.

"Papa, it's only me!"

For a moment, Erik did not move. He merely stared into her face. She was half afraid he would hit her, but instead, he crushed her, belly and all, into his strong arms. He did not ask how she knew, or why she was there. He merely held her for a moment, before a shout behind them startled both of them. He seized her hand and led her back up the tunnel. As they reached the door, she heard him mutter, "I wish I'd thought to grab my gun."

"Oh, it's alright!" Bell waved the hand still carrying the revolver in front of her. "I brought mine."

"Your—" Erik stared at it for a moment before he actually laughed. "I can't believe you brought a gun. Why on _earth_ would you bring a gun to an opera?"

"Why didn't you tell me what you were really doing?" she asked accusingly.

He heaved a sigh and pushed the door open, looking out and seeing no one. "We will discuss this later. Right now, we both need to go home and sleep. You shouldn't even be out. How did you even get past Raja?"

"Shut up." She shoved her father out the door and the two of them headed down the deserted alley, never looking back at the opera house…

Behind her, a man stood squinting down the alleyway. He could have sworn he had seen someone he knew. But who? Leaving a hysterical Christine in his carriage, he walked several steps down the alley. A man and a woman were speaking to another man, then they climbed into a carriage. His stomach lurched when he saw the man's face—it was the Phantom. But before he could cry out, his voice left him when he saw the woman with him.

Her silhouette showed her to be several months pregnant. Still, he knew that profile. Then she turned a bit and he realized with horror that he had found what he was looking for.

"Bellona," he whispered, as the carriage pulled away. Something inside him snapped and he raced down the alley, screaming out to her. "Bellona!"

But the carriage was gone, taking with it the only woman he loved more than Christine. The thought that she had been pregnant sunk in suddenly, and hit him with a jolt. _Pregnant._ He knew Bellona—she strongly frowned upon sleeping with multiple partners. There could be only one father for her baby. Him.

But now… where had she gone?

_a/n Uh-oh. Later, everybody! Leave a few reviews!_


	8. Chapter 7

_a/n EVERYTHING IS REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENT!_

"The art of love is largely the art of persistence." --Albert Ellis

**CHAPTER 7—AN ENDING**

Raoul was frantic. Christine kept talking about the damned wedding that he could not seem to focus on. It had been a fortnight since the opera and he had tried frantically to find Bellona after he had seen her, but he had nothing to go on. No one seemed to have seen the Phantom that night after he had disappeared with Christine, and, as much as Raoul hated to admit it, that man was the only link he had to the woman he had such a passion for.

And so, with nothing else to do and no leads, Raoul drank enough rum to satisfy a dozen sailors.

There was a knock on the door to his study, and Raoul quickly shoved the bottle into his desk as Christine came in. She scrunched up her nose. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he muttered, attempting to grasp the quill in front of him.

"Are you drunk?"

"No," he muttered. It was true. The massive amount of alcohol had, for the most part, not yet sunk into his blood.

Christine sat down on the settee against the wall. "You haven't even looked at the list yet," she said quietly.

_The List_. The List of things to do for the wedding. He sighed. "Christine," he said softly, "I can't."

Her voice was sad as she held out her hand. "I won't argue with you," she said. "You've been acting differently since the opera. I only ask why. Is it because of me—"

"No!" he said vehemently. "No. It's me. I—I haven't been honest with you ever since I've been in Paris."

A small frown creased Christine's brow as Raoul drunkenly spilled the truth about Bellona—loving her, losing her, and seeing her that night. When he was done, she looked positively furious, and Raoul felt a bit nervous.

"You never told me," she said, tear streaming down her red face. "All this time I've been in her shadow and you never told me!"

"I didn't know how!" he said desperately. "And I never got letters from her, so I thought she was never going to speak with me. But then she was _there_ and I can't think it was a coincidence. I just don't understand, though."

Christine wiped tears from her face and stood up. "You'll have to figure it out on your own for now. I can't even look at you tonight."

* * *

The sky had long since gone dark, but Bellona still stared out the window overlooking the countryside ten miles from Beauvis. Running a hand over her belly, she smiled as she felt the restless stirring beneath her skin. Her mind began to wander back to that forbidden place—to Raoul. Her eyes closed as she remembered the feel of his hands on her exposed skin, brown eyes glazed over with passion as he moved above her…

Opening her eyes, she pushed herself from the window seat and walked slowly toward the door. Just as she reached for the knob, it swung open revealing her sister.

"Dinner's ready," she said shortly before turning and walking back down the hall.

Heaving a sigh, Bell resigned herself to the fact that her sister was likely to be angry with her for some time. Upon waking and finding her sister gone three weeks before, she had immediately fetched Nadir and informed him of her sister's absence. Acting merely on a hunch, Nadir had raced with Raja to the opera house. He had barely stepped from the carriage when Bell and Erik had appeared in the alley way. Furious that her sister had never spoken a word of this to her, and had gone so far as to sedate her to sneak out, Raja had been very short with her sister ever since.

Upon entering the dining room, Bellona took in the sight of her father and sister sitting at the table. It was such a quiet, peaceful scene, and Bell smiled. Her father glanced up at her and gestured for her to sit. She hadn't felt hungry, but upon looking at the food before her, she realized she was famished. Sitting, she ripped into the chicken before her, helping herself to dumplings, greens, and steamed carrots. For some odd reason, there was sauerkraut, and she seized the dish.

"I thought that might be something you'd appreciate," Erik said dryly. "You've been requesting the oddest foods lately. Does it please you?"

Bellona nodded and smiled. "It's wonderful, papa, thank you."

A knock on the dining room door caused all of them to turn. The butler entered, bearing a letter in one gloved hand. Handing it to Erik, he bowed and exited. Erik opened the note in his hand and promptly choked on his wine. After regaining his breath, he placed the letter on the table and proceeded to finish his dinner. His face was calm, and he appeared to be unshaken, but his hand trembled a bit as it cut a bit of meat.

Raja rested a hand on her father's arm. "What is it, papa?"

"Nothing." He forced a smile. "I only have to go away for a while. I must ask you to promise to tell no one where I've gone."

"Where are you going?" Bellona asked.

"I'm not sure," he replied. "But I don't think I'll be back for some time."

The second he reached for his wine, leaving the parchment on the table unguarded, Bellona snatched it up. Glaring at him, offering up a silent dare to toy with a pregnant woman, Bellona refused to give it back to her father. Looking at it, she recognized the handwriting as Collette Giry's. Why was he hiding this from her? Curious now, more than angry, she read it more closely while her father excused himself.

_Dearest Erik,_

_It is my greatest hope that this letter finds you and your daughters safe and healthy. You did not respond to my first letter, so I write you again, and with more urgency than before._

_The rumors that Raoul was planning to break off the engagement proved to be true. I was not planning on asking about as to why, for I knew explanation would come in time. While I am still not entirely certain, I fear that something has happened that you must draw your attentions to._

_More rumors began to circle that he is looking for you, my dear friend. I had hoped them to be false—it could mean nothing but trouble for you, I was sure. However, it was he that came to me asking for your current whereabouts. He did not seem angry with you—he merely said he needed information from you. I asked what information he needed, but he said that he could only get it from you. I was hesitant to give him the information he wanted, but I knew that persistence would eventually pay off. I merely told him you were living two hours from Paris. I did not say in which direction, but he said he was setting to search immediately. I believe it may take him several weeks—if I remember correctly, your estate is somewhat hard to locate. However, I felt I should warn you that you may have an unwelcome visitor to your home in the near future._

_For some reason, Christine has gone with him to aid him in his search. She stopped to see Meg before leaving and gave us the news. She also refused to say why they required you. She implied, though, that no public officials would be involved._

_I hope you are well and that you will not act rashly. Bellona is due to give birth soon, and she will need you at her side._

_Sincerely,_

_Collette Giry_

Raoul was looking for her father? Standing, she handed the letter to Raja and followed her father from the room. He was in his room, hastily throwing clothes into a suitcase.

"I'll be back when it comes time for the birth," he said shortly. "I must go."

"Papa." Bell rested a hand on his arm and he froze. "You can't leave. I could go into labor sooner than expected. The doctor said that it's not unheard of for that to happen. Then what will I do?"

Erik heaved a sigh. "I know. But that damned boy could come any day and—"

"Nothing will happen, papa," she said firmly. "Even if he does come, what kind of man would take a father away from his dependent daughter? I don't think he's quite that heartless."

"You don't know this man, Bellona," he said sharply.

_If only you knew how well I know him,_ she thought sadly. "Maybe not," she lied. "But we can always hope, can't we? And we'll make sure we're well armed."

Erik smiled sadly. "My dear—"

"Papa," she said firmly, "I'm tired. I'm eight months pregnant and it's making my back ache and giving me stretch marks. The only way I know my feet still exist, as I can no longer see them, is that they are immensely swollen and sore. I cannot sleep comfortably because of this enormous bulge that used to be a lovely, flat stomach. My breasts are achy and swollen—don't give me that disgusted look—because they retain several months worth of baby food. All of this adds up to a nasty temper, and if any man comes into our home and tries to take you away, he will find that the only thing he will take away with him is a great deal of physical pain—perhaps his genitals in a bag, as well." That last part was sounding particularly appeasing right now.

Erik gave a small laugh, the first she had heard in so long it was painful to think about. "All right, Bellona," he said gently. "I will stay."

* * *

The hotel in Beauvis was comfortable, Christine decided, if a little more high strung than she was used to. She was so exhausted, however, that she found she did not care. Riding around the French countryside looking for a woman she had never met, she found it was frustrating to listen to Raoul's stories of love for this woman. Even more frustrating, however, was the lack of the location of the woman. They had not found any masked men named Erik, nor had they found anyone named de Rouen. They had, however, found two servants and one old man named Erik, and received a great deal of directions to the city of Rouen, farther to the west.

To make matters worse, Christine found herself unable to decide exactly why she had offered to help Raoul look. It was not out of love for him, she knew that. She had no personal attachments to Bellona, either. Was it, perhaps, because they were looking for the Phantom—Erik—that she had been so keen to go with Raoul? It felt as if some part of her truly missed her old mentor, but not in the way that a student misses a favorite teacher. It was more as if her lover had gone away for a long time and she longed to have him back in her arms.

But that didn't make sense! Erik had never been her lover, and she had never truly held him. At the same time, though, she found herself wishing things had been different. A part of her wished that she had stayed with him that night. Things would be so different now…

Exhausted, Christine changed into a crisp white nightgown and climbed between the sheets. Closing her eyes, she was soon asleep, dreaming of labyrinths, black gloves, and love…

_a/n Ta-da! Sorry this took so long to get up—I've been a little busy. You know I love you, though. Review if you love or not—it motivates me!_


	9. Chapter 8

_a/n Heads up…_

**CHAPTER 8—NOT ALONE**

Raoul was growing weary and worried that he may never find Bellona. For two weeks he had scoured the countryside and wound up right back where he had started, riding slowly with Christine back toward Beauvis. The awkwardness that had been between them was gone now, replaced by a fierce friendship and powerful honesty. He knew, now, why she was still by his side—she was as blinded by love as he, even if it had taken her all of the time in their travels to realize it.

Today, they were readying to quit and head to a hotel, but the sky overhead had other ideas. Riding on horseback, they glanced nervously at the sky. There would not be time to return to the city before lightning and torrents of rain if they took the main road.

"Look," Raoul said, pointing to a small path slightly up the road. "I bet that leads to town—it looks shorter than the main road."

Christine frowned. "Is it on the map?"

"I never noticed it before," he said. "But that doesn't really mean anything."

Christine heaved a sigh. "Alright," she said, "but if we get lost again—"

"We weren't lost. I knew exactly where we were."

"Right. Well, if we get lost, it's your fault if we get soaked and ill."

Raoul glared at her and turned his horse toward the small, somewhat wooded path. For some time, they rode on in silence before Christine said, "What are you going to say if you find her?"

He didn't look at her as he answered. "I don't know," he said honestly. "All I know is that her baby has to be mine."

"You're sure she was with child?"

"This is the woman who is very careful to walk about for exercise and watch what she eats. She wouldn't let herself get fat—not _that_ fat, anyway."

The thought of Bellona being with child frightened Raoul. What if he couldn't find her in time for the birth? What if she no longer cared for him? But the worst thought of all was one he had not shared with Christine, lest it upset her as well. What if, God forbid, Bellona had sought comfort in the arms of the Phantom, Erik? What if it was _his_ child she was carrying?

Raoul had been so lost in his thoughts that he had failed to notice the change in the weather. Christine moved closer to him to grasp his shoulder.

"Raoul," she said worriedly, and pointed up. The sky was very dark now with clouds that were heavy with rain. "I don't think we'll be able to make it back to town. What do we do?"

Looking around frantically, Raoul looked for a house, a cottage, a barn, even, to use for shelter. Squinting, he saw what looked to be a gate with a large "B" at the center, located in the middle of a line of trees and bushes. Calling out for Christine to follow him, he brought his horse to a gallop toward the gate. Climbing down, he wiped what promised to be the first of many fat raindrops from his face and tried to pull open the gate. It was locked. Raoul shouted desperately, fearing getting caught in what promised to be an extremely strong, possibly dangerous, storm. When no one answered, he began to become frantic. The rain was starting to fall and lightning was lighting the sky all around them. Christine looked positively petrified as Raoul withdrew his gun. Tossing the reins to his horse to her, he shouted, "Keep a tight hold—I'm going to shoot out the lock."

One shot was all that was required to shatter the metal. The chains fell and Raoul pushed the heavy gate open. Leading Christine through, he wrapped the chains back around the gate and climbed back onto his horse. They raced down the lane as the rain began to fall more heavily…

* * *

Bellona opened her eyes when the door to the porch opened. Looking over, she smiled at her father. "Hello."

"Hello." Sitting down on the bench beside her, he scanned the afternoon sky. "It's going to storm up a great deal tonight." Reaching over, Erik patted his daughter's hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous." She smiled weakly. "I only have two weeks left, and then I'm a single mother. Have you heard anything from Collette lately?"

He nodded. "She hasn't heard a word of news." Thunder caused the windows behind them to rattle and they both jumped.

"Jesus!" Bell rested a hand over her heart and laughed. "Maybe we should go in before it starts to—"

"Rain?" he asked, as fat droplets began to fall. Smiling, he turned to cross to the door.

"Papa."

"Yes, dear?" Turning, Erik laughed as he saw his daughter struggling to get to her feet. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," she said sheepishly. "I can't get up."

Still laughing, Erik turned back to help his daughter to her feet as the rain began to pour down from above. Lightning split the sky and he looked out over the estate. "What do you think of the place?"

"I expected you to get something big," she said simply. "I like it here."

Erik wrapped an arm around his daughter and closed his eyes. Leaning against her father's chest, Bellona breathed in the scent of the rain and looked over the land her father had purchased. It was beautiful, even in the rain. As her father turned to go inside, though, something caught her eye. Someone was coming up the lane. Two people on horseback.

"Papa," she said. "Look."

Turning, they watched as the pair of riders got closer and closer. "Who—"

Bellona's question was cut short when a gust of wind caught the hood of one of the riders. Squinting, as they were still a bit away, Bell caught a glimpse of long brown curls, and her stomach lurched. "Oh, my God," she whispered.

She felt a jerk on her arm as her father pulled her toward the door. "Get inside," he growled. "And stay there."

"No," she said quietly. "I'm staying out here."

"Bellona, this is no time to argue—"

"Exactly," she snapped. "Don't argue with me."

"There's no reason for you to be out here, Bellona. Go inside!"

"No!" She pulled her arm away from his grasp. "I will _not_ go inside so you can kill him!"

Erik frowned. "What's gotten into you?"

"Papa," she said slowly. "There's something I didn't tell you. I was afraid you'd get upset."

"What?"

Before she could answer, Raoul, who had apparently not seen either of their faces as Erik had been trying to push his daughter to the door, called, "Please, sir! I know we've broken into your property, but we need a place to stay! I'd be willing to pay you for your hospitality!"

For a moment, all that could be heard was the pounding of the rain and the thunder. Then, very slowly, Erik turned to face the man he hated more than any other…

* * *

Raoul was beginning to think this man would refuse him. He was about to speak again when the other man moved slightly. He turned slowly to look at Raoul and Christine, and Raoul heard Christine gasp behind him as the man glared down at them.

It was Erik.

His green eyes were lit with hatred as he took a step toward Raoul and Christine. Raoul nervously climbed down, holding empty hands in front of him.

"I swear, Erik," he called. "We're not here to hurt you."

"Then what is it you want?" the other man growled as lighting lit the sky, making him look angrier than he had before.

Raoul looked straight into Erik's face and said, "I'm looking for someone."

Erik made to step down from the porch, his hands curled into fists, but something stopped him. He struggled for a moment against some force located behind him Raoul could not see. Then, he heard the voice he had been dying to hear for months.

"Papa, don't you dare!"

Raoul froze. Erik wrenched his cloak free and continued toward Raoul, but just then, a woman stepped in front of him. Her face was as furious as he had ever seen it as she stood in front of Erik. "If you lay so much as a finger on him, you'll wish you had never taken me away from my mother and trust me, it _will_ be painful." Then she turned, staring nervously down at him. "Hello, Raoul."

Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was a mess from the wind, and her belly was swollen with pregnancy. But she was as beautiful at that moment as she had been when he had first lain eyes on her two years ago. And around her neck hung a ring of diamonds and emeralds that exactly matched her bright eyes.

It was as if the last several months had never happened. In a heartbeat he was on the porch and she was back in his arms. He clung to her as tears began to stream down his already wet face. Choking out a sob, he whispered, "I thought I'd never find you."

"I knew you would," she said softly.

Behind them, Raoul heard a gruff, "What in _hell_ is going on here?"

Bellona laughed, and Raoul realized for the thousandth time how much he had missed her. "Papa, I believe you know Raoul. He's my fiancé."

Never in all her years had Bell seen her father actually gape at her. Laughing, she gestured toward the house. "Let's go inside." Looking down at Christine, she frowned. "Why are you still in the rain?"

"Oh!" She smiled sheepishly as she stepped onto the porch. "I—I don't really know." She shifted uncomfortably. "I promise to be gone once the rain lets up," she said quickly. "I don't want to be in the way."

"Don't be stupid," Bell said. "You're not traveling in the dark alone. And speaking of rain, you two need dry clothes."

As they stepped inside, Raoul worked to keep distance between himself and Erik, who had by now stopped gaping and started glaring. An air of fierce protectiveness radiated from him now as he watched his daughter's every move. Glancing down at the stone floor, Raoul frowned at Bellona's skirt.

"I think I got you a bit wet, dear."

Bellona, who had been staring off at the wall with an odd expression on her face, whipped her head to look at Raoul. "What?" she asked weakly.

"Your skirt," he said, pointing. "It's wet. I think I—"

He was cut off as she grasped his wrist painfully. Letting out a moan, she leaned into his chest. "I don't think it's rain water," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"What?"

"I think I'm giving birth."

_a/n Okay, totally couldn't find a transition place, so you get one long ass chapter. My apologies. Leave a review—I'll love you forever!_


	10. Chapter 9

_a/n And now, a bit of comedy. (authoress rolls up her sleeves)_

**CHAPTER 9—A BEGINNING**

The night had been heading for madness the moment Bellona had recognized Raoul. The fact that she was now in an upstairs room giving birth with him by her side made things almost comic.

Erik paced the sitting room while Nadir, who had been staying with the family while Bell was in confinement, perused _The Canterbury Tales_ next to Raja, who was knitting a blanket. Christine sat in a comfortable chair, looking utterly out of place in of Raja's Persian garb. The bright reds and oranges suited her well, and Erik may have pondered on this if it was not for his current preoccupation with the dysfunction at hand.

"How could she not tell me this?" he muttered. "I'll make him pay to fix that fence, you mark my word."

"Papa," Raja said warningly.Looking up, she smiled at him so pleasantly that it nearly drove him mad. "Let us not forget what _you_ did not tell _her_. Or me, for that matter." She turned her pleasant smile upon Christine, though it was more genuine and less sarcastic now. When she spoke,Christine decided that her heavy Persian accent was soothing to Christine, who felt immensely out of place in the hosue of someone who had once offered her an untimatium driven by love."So, Christine, what are you planning on doing now that you are… how do I say… separate from Raoul?"

"Oh!" Christine, who had been silent since her offer to leave, save for a few "thank yous" here and there, sat up a bit straighter in her chair. "I'm not really sure. Everything has happened so quickly I haven't really had time to think about it."

"Damned boy."

"Papa, stop."

"I think I'd like to go on the stage, but—"

"How could she not tell me? Her own _father_?"

"Papa, that's enough!"

"—I'm just not sure where—"

"Since when does she keep anything from me?"

"Papa, stop it! You're being rude."

"—where exactly I'll go, now that—"

"She actually thinks that I'd—"

"Inchev!"

Everyone stopped to look at Raja, now on her feet, knitting forgotten, and shouting at Erik in her native tongue. When she had finished, she sat down in a huff. Nadir, who had been quiet the entire time, now began to chortle quietly. It quickly elevated into a laugh, and he was soon tearing as he boomed with mirth. Everyone stared at him as he attempted to compose himself. Erik glared at Nadir while Raja, still steaming, glared at her feet and muttered one last insult.

After a moment of what seemed to be stunned silence, Erik said, "Did you just call me an ass hole?"

"Yes. That's exactly what you are—right now, in any case."

Christine gaped at Raja. From what Raoul had told her of the girl, she was very sweet tempered, and she had been a great deal more than civil to Christine. Now, however, she looked ready to explode with rage as she sat on the couch.

All thoughts of the outburst evaporated as a scream echoed from upstairs. All heads turned upward as a resounding, "I'll kill you if you ever do this to me again!" reverberated through the house. There was a beat, then all of them, even Erik, burst into a fit of laughter. It continued for several minutes before Nadir stood.

"If you will all excuse me, I think I'd like a stiff drink." He held out a hand to Raja, who was lying on her back on the floor, still giggling. "Would you care to join me?"

As they left the room, Christine and Erik realized exactly what they were doing. They were being purposefully being left alone in a house where there was nowhere to hide comfortably, owing to the screaming woman upstairs. Christine sat back down in her chair and watched as Erik resumed his brooding pacing, all mirth now gone from him.

"You really should sit for a bit," Christine said softly after several minutes. He froze, but did not look at her. "You'll wear yourself out and you won't be awake when it's time."

Silent as ever, Erik slowly crossed to the vacant couch and sat. Another few minutes of silence followed, during which Christine tried her best to gather her courage to speak. She had not followed Raoul around the French countryside and gotten blisters on her feet to finally find this man and fall quiet.

"Erik," she said softly. His head jerked up to look at her as if he were startled that she would speak to him. "I…" She inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry for…everything."

He looked away to the doorway, which was dark and empty. Still, though, he did not speak.

"I never meant for things to happen the way they did," she said, speaking quickly before her courage ran out and she turned into a sodden mess of silk and tears. "I was stupid—naive and foolish. I didn't know what I was feeling—I still don't. And I just…" She faltered as her throat caught. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

Tears flowed down her cheeks and she buried her face in her hands. Painful sobs choked from her chest and she fell into herself, into a world of pain and fear. She only surfaced when two strong hands pulled hers away from her face. He was kneeling in front of her, holding out a handkerchief. She took it and attempted to compose herself. When she had calmed down, he retreated back to the couch. After a minute or two, he spoke.

"I can't…" He hesitated. "I can't forget what happened that night. I'll _never_ forget that night—I daresay you won't, either. It will take me some time to adjust to your being here, but I will. And in any case," he added, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, "I am still your teacher."

She smiled.

* * *

"I'm going to kill you!" 

"I know, darling."

"No, Raoul, I mean it! I'm going to rip it off so you can never do this to me again!"

Bellona fell against the pillows, gasping for breath, pain still etched across her face. Raoul reached up and tenderly brushed tears from her red cheeks. For nine hours now, she had been contracting and crying out to God with promises to kill Raoul. As she gasped for air, Raoul pressed his lips against her hair and smiled. _Nine hours_. He had only been back with Bell for nine hours and although he was still a bit confused about a few things, he felt as if he had never been away from her. When her contractions had first started and been farther apart, she had managed to fill in a few of the blanks, and he knew enough about the happenings of the last few months to feel terribly guilty. That said nothing, though, of the fear he felt. Her father was a man who had tried to kill him over a woman once, but that woman had not been his child. He was terrified of what would happen after tonight, but he said none of this to Bell.

Everything was going so fast. Bellona was here next to him. She was giving birth to a baby—his baby. She had threatened his life more times than he cared to count that night, but he knew she would get over it. The prospect of fatherhood frightened him, even with as much thought as he had given it over the last few weeks. Still, he doubted his fear was anything to match Bell's. She had told him how scared she had been that he would never leave Christine—that she would be alone with a constant reminder of him. But he was here now, and he made sure she knew this.

Another contraction hit her then, and she hissed through her teeth with pain, clutching his hand tightly. The midwife Nadir had gone for several hours before moved from her chair and disappeared under the sheet to examine Bellona.

"Raoul," she moaned, "it's not stopping. Make it stop, please…" She trailed off, burying her face in his arm.

"It's time to push, dear," said the voice under the sheet. "I shall need you to push down as hard as you can."

Bell's head jolted backward as she let out a long groan. Raoul held tight to her, whispering words of encouragement into her ear. All the while, the midwife urged Bell on, and after several agonizing minutes there was a new sound.

The child came into the world with a healthy cry and Raoul beamed down at Bell. She was gasping for breath, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. "What is it?" she asked desperately.

Raoul leaned up and the midwife turned a bit so he could see the baby. "A girl," he whispered. "We have a little girl."

"Aimée," Bellona whispered. As Raoul propped her up on the pillows, the midwife crossed the room, having finished cleaning the tiny child, and placed her, wrapped in a soft fleece blanket, into Bell's arms. A look of wonder crossed her face as she gazed down at her new daughter.

"She's so tiny," Raoul murmured, wonderment filling his voice.

Tiny fingers curled into fists around a slender finger and Raoul was in love. Bell looked at him, smiling beautifully. "Do you want to hold her?"

Gently, careful of the tiny head, Bellona placed Aimée into Raoul's arms. Looking at her face, Raoul saw his nose and ears. Already, her eyes were more green than blue—her mother's eyes. The pigment of her skin was a bit darker than Raoul's—almost olive toned, from her mother's Italian side. Almost transparent wisps of dark hair adorned her head. There was no escaping from it, or any reason to attempt to—she was absolutely perfect.

"She'll need to feed soon," came the midwife's voice. "Do you remember how?"

"Yes," Bell murmured, staring at her daughter and her lover.

"I'll send up your father."

What seemed like a second later, there was a knock at the door. Turning, Bell called for her father to come in. He entered, accompanied by Christine, and stopped next to his daughter. Raoul looked at the other man. Any anger he may have been feeling at Raoul at that moment, any protectiveness, was not evident on his face. He stared at Aimée, enraptured.

"Here," said Raoul softly, standing and gently handing the girl to Erik.

Erik stared into her face for a long time, and her beautiful eyes stared right back. Rocking her gently in his arms, he took Raoul's now vacant seat chair next to Bellona, and he smiled at his daughter. "She's beautiful, darling."

"Of course she is," Bellona said with a small smile. "She's your granddaughter."

Erik smiled. "I'm a grandfather." He looked back down at Aimée. "What will you call me, little one?"

"How about Opa?" Bell asked.

"I'm not German."

Raoul chuckled. "Abba."

"Nor am I Hebrew."

"Poo."

Everyone turned to look at Christine, who was hiding behind her hands, trying hard to contain giggles. "My father always said that's what I called my grandfather."

There was a beat of silence and they all laughed. "Can't you just imagine?" Bell giggled. "'Poo, where are you?' or 'Poo! Tell me a bedtime story!'"

"How have I been reduced to telling bedtime stories?"

"I'm not sure, but I think 'Poo' is what we'll be calling you from now on."

Erik shook his head, half annoyed and half amused. "To the namer of the Poo, I pass on the child that will be calling for Poo when she is frightened." Standing, he passed the baby to Christine. She fussed for a minute, but Christine hummed gently, rocking her in her arms until Aimée let out a yawn and curled her tiny fingers into fists again. They were all silent as Christine smiled down at the little girl. Raoul looked at Erik, who was staring at Christine with such intensity it was almost frightening. She didn't see, though—she was staring down with amazement at the baby in her arms.

"She's so tiny," she whispered. She looked up at Bellona and spoke directly to her for the first time since arriving at the house. "She's beautiful." Stepping closer, she placed Aimée back into her mother's arms and glanced at Erik. "Shall we leave them alone?"

He nodded, looking a bit dazed, and turned to kiss Bell. "I love you, beautiful girl."

She smiled up at him. "I love you, too."

They left, and Raoul found himself knowing that everything would sort itself out in time and be just fine.

_a/n I am NOT done yet, but it might be a while before anything else comes out. I've been trying to pump stuff out while I have time because I'm going to get a bit busy. I've got two speeches and a math project to work on in the next two weeks, so forgive me if it's another week or two… or three… or a year…_


	11. Chapter 10

_a/n The schools of music and theater put on _Die Fladermus _by Straus last night and, while laughing my ass off, I remembered that I needed to put some work into this. Go see that opera, by the way. It's freakin' hilarious! "I call it… _Revenge of the Bat_."_

_a/n_ _2 Um… I've been on this for a couple of days and all I can say is… LET ME GET A BIG "HELL YEAH" FROM THE REDNECK GIRLS LIKE ME! Yeah… don't ask. I was listening to that song again. Anyway, we shall now gear more toward Erik and Christine, however, there's a bit of R/B action at the end. If you skip it, you won't miss much—I'll understand if that doesn't float your boat. I'm just a bit… frisky right now, and I feel the need to begin the earning of the rating. And reviews are the only thing that tames it. Peace out._

_a/n Thanks to Dani for telling me to fix my shit. I keep mixing up names—where would I be without her!_

**CHAPTER 10—DEVELOPING**

In the four weeks since Aimée had been born, a great deal had happened. Over dinner, Raoul and Bellona and announced their re-engagement and their desire to be wed as soon as possible. Everyone had been happy for them, with the exception of Erik, who, unspeaking, had cut into his steak with more force than was needed.

Erik had sent several short works to a publisher in Paris, who had published them and sent him a check. Bellona had teased him about finally earning honest money, to which he had performed the traditional throwing of scrambled eggs at her.

Even Christine had found work as an actress at a small theater in town while moonlighting as the assistant to the children's choir director at the famed Beauvais cathedral. She loved both jobs and, while the acting job required very little singing, she enjoyed it nevertheless and adored working with the young choir boys, coming home with stories that made them all laugh over dinner.

It was Christine's continued in the house that was making Erik so miserable. He loved her—he was sure of that. But did she love him? She had stopped being such an introvert and was actually talking to everyone, now. True, there was a bit of almost awkward coolness between her and Bellona, but he suspected that would pass in time. It was nothing to the awkwardness that was between himself and Christine, though. They seldom spoke in private, and their conversations were cautions when they did. Was she distancing him? Or was he distancing himself from her by locking himself in his music room evening after evening?

One such evening, Christine and Raja had retired to the parlor, where Christine quietly worked on a needlepoint as Raja read a book. Down the hall, Christine could hear Erik working at a new piece. This new music was different than what she was used to from him. It was soothing—almost like a lullaby. She had a feeling that little Aimée had had quite the influence on him. She mentioned this to Raja, hardly thinking, and the other girl smiled.

"Yes, I suppose it has," she said softly. "Papa's always been a very…shall I say…rough man. But it has not only been having Aimée around that has changed him." She gave Christine a small smile before changing the subject, seeing a bit of discomfort in Christine. "Would you like some wine?"

Christine raised her eyebrows. "I thought you weren't supposed to drink. Isn't it against your religion?"

Raja laughed as she reached for the bottle left by Nadir and poured some for both of them. "Do you follow all of your commandments?" She laughed again at the sheepish look on Christine's face, handing across the glass. "Nor do I follow of my rules. Neither does Nadir."

"But you still wear your headdress most of the time. Why?"

Another small smile flitted across the girl's lips. "Do you not wear stockings most of the time?"

Christine laughed. Raja clearly had more of a sense of humor than she had given her credit for. "Do you miss Persia?"

Raja looked out of the window. "I miss my homeland—not the courts, though." She gave a visible shudder.

"Why?"

The other woman did not answer right away. She stared into her wine glass for a time before saying slowly, "My mother was one of those who dwelt with the khanum in her harem. I lived there for several years until my mother died and then Nadir came and paid to take me away. I would likely still be there if not for him. I was a bit of a show for her, I suppose."

Christine was confused. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"By what?"

"All of it, really," she said sheepishly. "I suppose I'm not wise in the ways of the world."

"Ask Nadir sometime," Raja said, placing her wine on the table. "I do not like to speak of those years." She left, taking with her an air of discomfort. Christine drank a bit more of her own wine, feeling terrible for upsetting her new friend. She finished her wine and downed two more glasses before, standing, she walked from the room and down the hall toward the music.

Placing a small knock on the door to Erik's music room and receiving permission to enter, she turned the knob and stepped inside. He appeared a bit surprised to see her, and even more surprised that she seated herself on the settee next to the piano. It was quiet for a moment before he said, "Is there something you wanted?"

"I think," Christine said quietly, "I may have accidentally upset Raja."

A small frown creased Erik's brow. "How did you manage that?"

"I asked her if she missed Persia and she said something about the courts and her mother. I didn't understand and she said it wasn't something she liked to talk about."

Erik nodded slightly, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I see. And you wish me to explain it to you?"

"Yes, but only if you don't mind," she said quickly. "I don't want to bother you."

Erik placed the pencil he was holding on the top of some already finished music and sighed heavily. "Her problems in Persia stemmed somewhat from me. I was the court magician and entertainment for several years there. She…" He paused, trying to think of a way to explain. "Her mother was one of my rewards for my services. When I left Persia to help Collette support Meg, her mother was left alone and I was unaware that she would soon give birth. Nadir wrote me several years later to tell me of her, and also of Bellona. I was a bit more than upset to hear that Bellona was dealing with an abusive parent, but it hurt me to find that Raja's mother had passed away some time back. The consumption, I believe he said. In any case, Raja was being raised in the harem with the khanum—"

"Harem?"

Erik stared for her at a moment before he seemed to realize that she had no idea what a harem was. He heaved a sigh. "You know of brothels, I assume?'

Christine made a face. "She was raised in a house of prostitution?"

"To some extent," he said. "The women of the harem belong to the shah, and only he and those closest to him may…visit the women there."

"That's terrible," Christine said quietly. "They were raising her to…give herself to men?"

"Partially." Erik shifted uncomfortably. Christine was the absolute last person he wanted to be talking to about his somewhat tainted past, and he was surprised he was at all. Perhaps it was the brandy he had drunk earlier. "But they knew she was mine. They wanted her to be some… I suppose they wanted her to be something like me, only female and attractive."

Christine was shocked. Raja was so quiet—no trace of a past where she had been expected to give up something she could never get back for men was ever seen. "Why didn't she end up that way?"

Erik smiled slightly. "I sent Nadir a positively obscene amount of money to secure her release. She never left Persia until she was fifteen when Bell was old enough to take care of her."

"How old is she?"

"She's only a year or so older than you. She has been through so much, but she never talks of any of it, not even to Nadir—God knows she tells him everything."

Christine smiled. "You sound jealous."

"I am not."

"You are!" She laughed, feeling the wine from before sinking into her system. "You're jealous of Nadir!"

Erik seized his pencil and began to scribble for a moment before he paused, sniffing the air. "Have you been drinking?"

Christine's eyes widened. "Can you tell?"

"I can tell two things by looking at your face right now. You've been drinking and it's something you never do." He shook his head and rose. "Come on. I'll take you to your room and fetch the maid to ready you for bed."

Christine rose from her seat, stumbling a bit. Erik caught hold of her arms to support her. Looking up, she smiled at him. He stared back at her for a moment before hoisting her into his arms and carrying her down the hall and up the stairs to what was now her room. He sat her down on the bed and noticed that she had fallen asleep. Stroking her hair away from her face, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and an even gentler one on her lips. Before he completely lost control, he left.

Bellona was exiting the nursery down the hallway and smiled at him. He pulled her in for a hug before saying, "She's fallen asleep. Maybe you could put her into something more comfortable for sleep?"

Quietly, Bell opened the door to Christine's room as her father walked back down the stairs. She was surprised to find Christine rolled onto her stomach, crying. Forcing herself to be nice, Bellona crossed the room, shutting the door behind her, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

Christine did not reply. Bell caught a whiff of alcohol as the younger woman curled onto her side, burring her face into Bell's thigh, sobbing. "I can't—" She seemed to choke on her words and could not finish.

Taking a deep breath, Bell reached down and pulled Christine up, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug and rocking her gently. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know!" she said in a burst. "I don't know what's the matter with me because I don't know what I'm thinking or feeling for him! I never should have come here—I should have stayed in Paris with a ruined career and a tainted reputation. At least I would be confused without _him_ making it worse."

"Darling, I'm not going to lie," Bell said quietly. "I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Bell," she sobbed. Suddenly, her head shot up, and bloodshot brown eyes bore into Bell's green ones. "Have you ever thought you've been in love with somebody but you didn't know if you were or not?"

_Oh, my God_. This was not good. "I suppose…" Bell chose her words carefully. "I used to be a somewhat cynical person—I had a hard time believing in falling in love. So when I met Raoul, I told myself it was nothing new—just lusty passion. I kept telling myself it wasn't love. But after a long time with him I realized that it was. It took me a year. But it may have gone quicker if I'd had the courage to actually talk to him about it."

"I should talk to him?"

"Raoul?"

"No," Christine said pointedly.

_Oh._ "Wait until tomorrow," Bell said, smiling. "Right now, you need to sleep off… what did you have to drink?"

"Wine."

"The stuff that's in the sitting room?"

"Yes."

"Papa made that," she said with a small smile. "It's a bit stronger than most. Here." Hoisting Christine onto unsteady feet, she smiled. "I'm going to help you get ready for bed."

Christine nodded and stumbled a bit, even with assistance, toward her closet. In the short time she had been there, it had been filled with items of clothing for her use. As Bell helped her out of her dress and corset and into a comfortable night gown, the tears that had left Christine before returned, and they now streamed silently down her face. Bell helped her into bed, turning down the covers and tucking her in. She smiled kindly and brushed tears from Christine's face, sitting with her until she was asleep.

Quietly, Bell let herself out of the room and headed back downstairs to look for her father.

No longer in the music room, Erik was relaxing with his feet propped up on the ottoman and a glass of brandy in his hand. Next to him, a rare cigarette was lit, and Bellona could see that, even though he appeared relaxed, he was wound tight as a spring.

"You're not drunk, are you?" she asked bluntly.

Erik opened his eyes and smiled. "No, dear, I've learned my lesson." He held out the bottle and a glass. "Care to imbibe?"

"I think I just may." Taking the brandy from her obviously surprised father, she poured a bit and sat down on the couch. "You're smoking."

"It's not been a comfortable evening." He took a drag and flicked ashes into the trey. "I daresay it's not been for you, either. Problems in paradise?"

"Don't get your hopes up," she said darkly. "Raoul isn't leaving any time soon."

"Damn."

"Funny," she said, sipping her brandy. "No—I wanted to talk to you about Christine."

Erik looked at the brandy in his hand, then at the cigarette. "I'm going to have to roll another one, aren't I?"

"You might." Bellona set the brandy on the table and crossed her arms, nudging her father's feet over so she could share the ottoman with him. "Have you even talked to her? I mean _really_ talked to her," she said, interrupting him before he could even begin to argue. "Not just 'hello' and 'how was your day.'"

"Why should I risk my sanity again to make her uncomfortable?"

"There's a saying," Bellona said slowly, "that those who speak the most truth are children and drunks. And the drunk woman upstairs spilled a bit of truth to me earlier." Standing, Bell pushed Erik's feet from the ottoman to sit in front of him. "She doesn't hate you, papa," she said softly. "I think she's a bit confused about what's going through her head right now, but I know she doesn't hate you. The only way she's going to find out what she's feeling is if you help her. You don't even have to talk about it directly, just… talk to her. Sit with her. Play music with her, if you want. Nothing can hinder it at this point. I think…" She paused. "I _believe_ that, if she isn't already, she is falling in love with you all over again."

Erik did not speak for a long time, and Bellona decided it was best to leave him alone to think. Standing, she drained the rest of her brandy and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, papa."

As she entered her bedroom several minutes later, after checking to see that Aimée was asleep, she found Raoul collapsed on the bed, still dressed and sound asleep. Smiling, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting raven tresses tumble around her shoulders. She gently shook him awake. "Raoul? I need help getting out of my corset."

Groggily, her fiancé opened his eyes and stretched. "Alright," he yawned.

Clumsily, still half asleep, he untied the laces before standing to change into sleeping pants. As she combed her hair, Bell stared at him the mirror. He wasn't quite as muscular as her father, but she thought he was ridiculously handsome. She smiled appreciatively as he stepped over and began to massage the knots out of her back and shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured. Reaching up, she laced her fingers through his. "Bed?" _(a/n Run and hide if you wish, but don't get too scared and forget to review!)_

Boyishly, Raoul raced across the room, jumping onto the bed and burrowing under the covers. Smiling, Bell followed, climbing under the quilts next to him. His arm wrapped around her waist and within seconds, her formerly sleepy beloved was tracing her body through the thin cotton of her nightgown. An attractive smirk played across his face as she rolled over and he slowly worked her from her night clothes.

"We have to be quiet," she whispered, smiling. "God forbid Aimée wakes up or papa hears."

"Oh, God," Raoul moaned. "_Please_ promise never to mention your father again when we're about to make love."

"Sorry, my love, I couldn't resist the look on your face."

She wasn't sure when their clothes came off, and knew that when morning came, they'd be difficult to locate, but she was glad for it. When he joined them together, her eyes slid out of focus and she held tight to him.

"So good," he murmured. "You feel so good."

She could not speak to reply. Her voice was lodged in her throat, and all that came out was a low, animalistic groan of pleasure. Holding him tighter, she gasped as he began to move. The fire that had burned within her all week, unable to be released for one reason or another, consumed her from inside. In a matter of a few short minutes, her face was buried in a pillow as she began to climb toward release.

"Say it," Raoul growled into her neck.

"Please…"

"_Say it!_"

"I…" She gasped as her eyes flew open. "Harder… please…"

Tears streamed down her face as she tried to keep relatively quiet. Unable to stop herself, she let out small gasps and cries of pleasure as she fell into the oblivion of pleasure. Lips pressed hard again hers as Raoul followed her over.

For a moment neither of them moved. When he finally rolled off of her, she was still gasping for breath. She curled onto her side, burying her face in his chest. Raoul gave a small laugh. "You alright?"

Still unable to speak, she nodded, clutching at his arms to pull them around her more tightly. "I love you," she managed to gasp.

"I love you more."

Her breathing had slowed and her brain had returned back to normality enough that she was able to retort smartly. "Would you like to argue your case, sir?"

"Love to."

_a/n Two apologies. This took FOREVER to get up. I've been working on it when I get two or three free minutes here and there (I saw _Fladermus _on Friday and it's now Wednesday). Also, this was a loooooooooong chapter. What can I say? I suck at transitions. Later, all! I'll update more when I can._


	12. Chapter 11

_a/n Ooooook… I'm going to make daddy Charles Scottish because I LOVE SCOTTISH MEN. Also, if you haven't read "Under the Veil of Honorable Marriage" yet… WTF IS THE MATTER WITH YOU! You can find it on my favorites list if you feel the urge. It rocks my socks. Seriously. The socks? They're gone, my friends. Out the window—gone. Rocked. I mean that. ROCKS MY SOCKS! Original and really nifty. Wait… nifty isn't a good enough word. Try "ingenious" or "inspired." Can you tell I love it? Really… Okay, I'll stop now. Read on, my minions!_

**CHAPTER 11—BRACING**

Christine awoke the next morning still feeling groggy and with a bit of a headache. The curtains were still closed, as was the gossamer curtain around her bed. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she shoved the curtains aside and climbed from bed. Discarding her nightgown, she changed into a simple skirt and a white blouse. Pulling on stockings over her bare feet, she shuffled from the bedroom and down the stairs.

Only Nadir and Bellona remained at the breakfast table, and Bell smiled as Christine walked in.

"She lives!" Pulling out a chair next to her, Bell motioned for Christine to sit. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Tired," Christine muttered. "And thirsty."

Bellona poured some water into a glass and handed it to Christine. Not realizing exactly how thirsty she was, Christine drained the entire glass while Nadir and Bellona watched.

"Are you going to feel better by tonight?" Bell asked.

Setting down her glass, Christine frowned in confusion as the older woman refilled it. "What?"

"Didn't Papa tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Damned fucker," she growled. Bell put the water pitcher down with a thunk before she stood up, a smile pasted on her face, although her eyes were flaring. "We may have a problem. Excuse me."

As Bell left the room, Christine looked to Nadir. "What's tonight?"

Nadir took a sip of his coffee before setting down his newspaper and folding his hands neatly on top of it. "Bellona and Raoul's engagement party is tonight."

The water Christine had been drinking came from her mouth in a spray. "What?"

"Yes, people shall begin arriving around six, and dinner is at seven with a ball following."

There was a small commotion in the hall, and the pair of them turned to see Erik being shoved into the dining room by an angry looking Bellona. "Papa's going to take you to buy you a dress, Christine," said Bell. "He was supposed to take you last week, but it seems to have slipped his mind." She smacked the back of her father's head, frowning deeply. "I can't remember to do everything myself, I have a baby to look after!"

She left in a huff, leaving an awkward silence behind her. "Well." Erik shifted uncomfortably. "When would you like to leave?"

Fifteen minutes later, the awkward silence had returned in the carriage. Christine had changed into a blue day dress and matching slippers and pulled her hair hastily into a bun before rushing downstairs and into the carriage with Erik. They were going to a shop in Beauvis that Christine had never heard of—one that carried ready made dresses that could be quickly altered, at a price.

"Do you have any idea of what you would like?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing pink," she blurted out. Blushing, she looked out of the window, remembering the last time she had worn a pink dress in front of Erik. It had been nothing short of a disaster. That had been the night…

She blushed even deeper as she remembered with both pride and embarrassment how Raoul had tried to convince her that she needed to relax. She had agreed, but his idea of relaxation was much different than his had been. She had refused to go to bed with him, saying she refused to bed a man before marriage, but that had not been her real reason for not sleeping with him. Any thoughts of sexual passion she was having that night had not been, nor had they ever been, for Raoul, but for the man who had told her she belonged to him. Unable to continue thinking this way without blurting out something embarrassing, she asked, "Have you sent in any new music to your publisher?"

Erik looked up, a bit surprised at this sudden change of subject, but grateful for it nevertheless. "I sent in a fantasy yesterday," he said. "Piano and voice."

"A fantasy for voice?"

"Yes," he said, smiling a bit. "You would probably like it."

She smiled. "That's what Bellona said." A thought suddenly came to her mind. "I hope I'm not offending you if I ask this, but… does Bellona always swear so much?"

Erik burst into a fit of laughter. After a moment, he calmed a bit, enough to say, "Yes, I suppose she does. She's worse than me. Wait until tonight—she'll be fifty times worse. Every other word emitted from her mouth will consist of a mere four letters."

Christine giggled. It felt so good to be able to talk with Erik—to _laugh_ with him—as if there had never been anything wrong between them. "Full of swear words and even more stubborn than you, I'd go so far as to say."

"I don't know about more stubborn," he said defensively. "Just more…" He paused, searching for a word, then shook his head. "What am I saying? She's a woman and related to me. She's long since defeated me in amounts of pigheadedness."

"Ah, so all women are stubborn."

"Of course. Look at you. You are too stubborn to admit that women surpass men in levels of stubbornness."

"I am not."

"I'm only thankful that you don't have a gun in your hand."

As the carriage jerked to a stop a few minutes later, both of them were still laughing. Climbing out before her, Erik held out a hand to help her down. Christine looked at the window of the shop in front of her. There did not appear to be many people inside, but the few women there looked very wealthy.

Christine felt distinctly uncomfortable as she entered the shop, clutching Erik's arm tightly. He gave her an encouraging smile before leading her to the shopkeeper.

"Lord de Rouen!"

Christine frowned a bit as she looked about for whoever had called out to Erik. _Lord de Rouen?_ Why had he never mentioned a title before?

A woman cheerfully greeted Erik with a smile. She was plump, and appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties. "Lovely to see you! This must be the young lady your daughter told me would be in… last week?"

"Yes," he said quickly, blushing a bit. "Bellona gave you her measurements, yes?"

"Oh yes, but I don't know if we have anything for her here…" She smiled good-naturedly. "She's simply too lovely for her own good, just as you said."

Christine felt her face heat up, but she smiled. "Thank you, Madam…"

"Just Annabeth, darling," she said, beaming. Taking Christine's hand, she nodded to several chairs. "You just have a see there, my Lord, and we'll show you whatever dresses your lovely lady wishes to see."

"No!" Christine grinned and whispered to Annabeth. A smile crossed the older woman's face as she said, "A young woman after my own heart."

Erik heaved a sigh and resolved to sit in the chair for what promised to be a long morning.

**

* * *

**

It was four hours before Christine and Erik made their way back to the house in the country, and it took another hour to get there. It was four in the afternoon when Erik helped her down from the carriage. She was smiling more brightly than he had seen her do in a long time, and he felt that, although long, the morning had been a success. Not only in the finding of a dress, but… something else…

Raja was sitting on the lawn with Nadir, fanning herself in the warm afternoon sun. When the carriage pulled to a stop, she got to her feet, smiling, and crossed the yard to them. Christine waved excitedly, and the two of them rushed inside, giggling.

Nadir shook his head. "No matter how old or young they may be, the prospect of a fancy dinner always seems to appeal to women."

Erik chuckled. "I have no idea what I bought her," he said. "She wouldn't show me—said she wanted to surprise me."

Both of them laughed at this and moved up to sit on the porch. As they drew nearer to the house, they saw Raoul resting on the bench that overlooked the lawn. If Erik didn't know any better…

"Are you hiding, boy?" he barked.

Raoul jolted up, looking around frantically. No, maybe he wasn't hiding, just sleeping. "I didn't know she needed changed! I—" His eyes slid into focus and came to rest on a chortling Nadir and a frowning Erik. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Why aren't you inside helping my daughter?" Erik asked, still frowning.

"She kicked me out." He shook his head. "Said I kept getting in the way."

"What were you doing?"

"Exactly what she told me." Sitting all the way up, he stretched. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you. She's on a rampage."

Erik opened the door. He was met with a mix of orders and curses from inside. He promptly shut the door and moved to sit in a lounging chair at the far end of the porch. "For once, I think you may be right."

Not ten minutes later, the door burst open and a fuming Bellona stood in the frame.

"What the hell!" she shouted. "Get your lazy asses inside, move the piano, and get ready! I don't want people to come in here thinking the men my family can't dress better than a bunch of fucking male prostitutes!"

There was a pause after the door slammed shut before all three men burst into a fit of laughter.

"We look like male prostitutes, then?" Raoul managed to spurt out between laughs. "Here I thought I put particular work into making myself look lady-like and presentable!"

Erik was doubled over in his chair, but he managed to say, "Ah, well, I suppose it's the pants. Although, they do accentuate your figure."

Still laughing, the three of them made their way inside and managed to move the piano into the entranceway without further enraging Bell. Having already ordered the maid to draw up a bath, he stepped into the bathroom that adjoined his room, stripped down, and lowered himself into the steaming water with a groan. His aching muscles praised the heat and he rested his head on the back of the tub. For several wonderful minutes, he merely sat in the hot water, immobile. When he moved to reach for the soap, he felt exactly how relaxed his muscles had become. It felt amazing.

An hour later, he climbed from the cooling water and dried off, toweling his hair as he walked back into the quiet of his room. He dressed in silence, tying up his cravat with his usual flourish. As he did up his shoes, he wondered why he was so nervous.

When Erik emerged at a quarter to six, he walked down the stairs to find Bellona pacing slowly back and forth, gently bouncing a crying Aimée while Raoul gently consoled her. Bell looked helplessly toward her father as he walked down the stairs.

"She's been colicky lately," she said worriedly. "She's so fussy—what do I do?"

Erik could not help the smile that crossed his face. He had never pictured his swearing, spitfire of a daughter having a daughter of her own, let alone asking him for advice. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said. "The weather's changing—it's probably just a small cold." When she still looked worried, he added, "The doctor will be in attendance tonight. I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking a look at her."

Bell heaved a sigh and walked slowly toward him, still gently bouncing little Aimée. "You try," she said. "She seems to like you better when she's like this."

Aimée protested a bit more as she was passed between them, but once Erik had her in his arms, she resumed her soft fussing. For several minutes, he simply rocked her back and forth as Bellona had done, but he hummed a bit, low in his chest, and she seemed to calm a bit. She even cooed as her tiny hands curled his shirt into her fists. After a few more minutes, she yawned, and Erik smiled as he realized that she had fallen asleep. Bellona smiled gratefully and pointed her finger up toward the nursery, pressing a finger over her lips.

As carefully as he could, Erik ascended the stairs and turned down the hall on the second floor to put the small child into her cradle. Just ahead of him, a door opened and Christine emerged. Erik did not pay much attention to the dress she was wearing, instead noticing the undecipherable look on her face as he walked slowly past her, still rocking a bit. Stepping into the nursery, he handed her off to the nanny, who was reading a book in a corner. She smiled at him as she gently helped Erik put Aimée into the cradle. Erik mouthed a word of thanks to her before quietly stepping out, closing the door quietly behind him. Christine was still standing in the hall, and now that he no longer had an armful of baby, he took in her appearance.

She was wearing a gown with shortened sleeves that just covered her shoulders. A ribbon of satin was tied about her waist, showing off her lovely figure, and the dress itself was made of silk damask. The floral design of the dress was of woven satin of a blue-gray that caught the light when she turned. Her hair had been released from the tight bun of the last few weeks, and it hung in all its curly glory around her shoulders. She was wearing a small, almost apprehensive smile, and Erik smiled back.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"You look lovely, Christine," he said, forcing his throat to stop closing up and his voice to be steady. "That dress looks like it was made for you."

For several minutes, they stood in silence, both of them wanting to speak, but wanting the other to speak, as well. After a bit, he cleared his throat. "I suppose we should go down, then." Stepping closer to her and holding out his arm. She took it, smiling, and together, they stepped toward the stairs and the people down below.

A large crowd had already congregated—Erik did not realize how long it had been. It was already a quarter of six. Bellona smiled up at him as he slowly descended the stairs with Christine—it felt surreal, really, to be in his own home, the host of an engagement dinner for his daughter with Christine on his arm. Perhaps surreal wasn't even a strong enough word. He wasn't sure if there was a word for this feeling…


	13. Chapter 12

_a/n Okay. This whole two updates in a night the week before finals thing? It's not happening again. I don't know why I'm doing it. I should be working on dictation homework or studying for math, but alas, the Sudafed has gone to my head. Rock on, party hard… If you have "I Should Tell You" from _RENT_, now would be a good time to queue it up. Enjoy!_

**CHATPER 12—WRITTEN IN THE STARS**

Christine and Erik had carried on conversation all through entrances and dinner, and she had learned a great deal about the de Rouen family. One thing she had learned was that Erik had received the title of "Lord" from his father, who had died some time before Erik's birth. He had only learned of this upon returning home years later and finding his mother was dead. He had also been the court magician in Persia before Raja's birth, something Nadir seemed to love to tease him about.

Now, however, dinner was over—it was time for the ball, for dancing, and Christine was nervous. Would she stand alone on the side watching happy couples whirl by, as Bellona had done at the Opera? Or would a hand take hers, fingers curling together, and spin her in circles? Would she dance with a stranger or someone she…

Loved?

Loved.

Her breath left her lungs in a rush with this new and unexpected realization. Gone was the uncertainty of the way she felt for Erik. Gone, too, was the denial. In its place was a feeling of love and adoration so strong that she felt as if she was already dizzy from dancing. She felt her face heat up and she fanned herself with the elegant lace fan that Erik had purchased for her at the dress shop.

As they entered the hall, she felt a hand on her elbow. Turning, she met with Raoul's eyes, full of brotherly concern. She smiled.

"Is it warm in here?"

He smiled. "I suppose so. Wait until all the eligible bachelors have spun you around the floor—you'll be steaming."

She laughed and shoved him toward the floor where he and Bellona were to begin the dancing. She watched as they waltzed around for a bit before they were joined by several other couples. Just as she was resigning herself to a night of standing alone, she heard a throat clear behind her. She jumped slightly and turned around to see Erik standing straight backed and tall, and seeming a big anxious. He said nothing, but held out one gloved hand—when had she ever seen him in white gloves?—which she took in her own.

"I never figured you for a dancer," she said quietly as he expertly switched from a waltz to the gavotte.

He smiled. "There's a great deal you don't know about me."

"I know more now," she said defensively. Looking around, her eyes sought Raja. She was nowhere to be found, and Christine frowned a bit. "Where did Raja go?"

Erik spun her a bit to catch a better view of the floor. A small frown creased his brow. "I have no idea. She couldn't have gotten too far, though, could she? The ball's only just started."

Christine sighed as the music switched to a simple two step, trying to find a topic of better discussion. "What's something else I don't know about you?"

Erik paused for a moment before he gave her a small smile. "I'm not French. I was raised in Boucherville, but I was not born here. My father and mother were living in Glasgow when he died and my mother remained there for a time before moving back to her native home."

"So you're Scottish?" She laughed. "I suppose that's why you're such a rogue, then."

"A rogue am I?" he asked playfully. "Perhaps you have not yet seen how rouge-ish I can be."

She blushed profusely at the implied undertones of his voice. Suddenly, she felt very dizzy and she paused. The playfulness in Erik's eyes vanished as he raised a hand to her arm to steady her. "Would you like some air?"

She nodded, and he led her quickly out to the terrace. The cool evening air hit her face and the sound inside seemed muffled out here. She gazed out over the lawn, her head still spinning a bit. She suddenly noticed that Erik's hand, which had been on her elbow, had moved to her back. She edged carefully closer to him as he stared up at the night sky. "Do you know any of the stars, Christine?" he asked softly.

"No." She leaned slightly against the stone banister as she followed his gaze upward. "But I've often wondered."

"That's Orion," he said, pointing. "And that's Canis Major. It's easier to see than Canis Minor—that's over there. There's Gemini."

"Isn't Gemini an astrological sign?"

"Yes, but they're based off of the stars. Do you know what yours is?"

Christine smiled. "No. Madame Giry told us not to waste our time with garbage such as zodiac signs."

Erik laughed, a sound that Christine found she quite liked. "Yes, that does sound like something Collette would say. When is your birthday?"

"August," she said. "I'll be seventeen."

"We'll have to throw another party," he said, smiling. He thought for a moment, muttering the date under his breath before a truly wicked grin crossed his face. "Leo."

"I have no idea what that means," she said, giggling.

"I'll tell you." He pulled his gaze from the sky to her face. "Late July and early August was when Egyptians believed lions to be out prowling the Nile river. They called that time 'Leo,' like a lion. Its element is fire—very appropriate for you when you are feeling particularly angry, I might add." He laughed at the indignant look on her face and pointed upward again. "There, you see? The bright one over there? That's Leo."

Christine stared up for a long tine, not noticing that his gaze had dropped to look at her. She didn't look down until he said, "You look lovely tonight, Christine."

She jumped a bit and lowered her gaze. She blushed—again. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for the dress."

He waved his hand. "It was my pleasure." He sighed a bit. "It was a good day."

"Except for my headache."

Erik burst into laughter. "I'd forgotten about that. How do you feel now?"

"Better," she said. "I think I drank an entire lake, though. Why was I so thirsty?"

"Your liver was working overtime. You were a bit more than slightly intoxicated last night."

She blushed. Maybe so, but she still remembered everything she had said to…

"Oh, no," she groaned, burring her face in her hands.

"'Oh, no,' what?"

"I think I may have…" She couldn't _dare_ say this to Erik, of all people. She couldn't even believe she'd admitted it to Bellona. What if…

"Did…" She took a deep breath and emerged from behind her hands, deciding that the worst he could say was "yes." "Did Bellona say… anything last night?"

Erik considered for a moment what to tell her. He could lie… but could he truly do that to Christine? "Yes," he said slowly. "She… mentioned a few things."

Christine groaned again and buried her face back in her hands. She did not speak for a long time and Erik began to wonder if the things Bell had said were merely the result of drunken ramblings. But then, her face, which was more bright red than it had been at any point he had ever seen her, reemerged once more and she looked up at him, both awkward and embarrassed. "Are you angry with me?"

Erik blinked. "Angry?" He couldn't gather his thoughts fast enough. "I—I'm not a-angry," he stuttered. "I… I wasn't—that is to say—"

She looked very upset, and he faltered to a stop. She was looking at her hands, but he saw traces of tears in her chocolate eyes. He heaved a sigh, and prayed that he wouldn't mess up this time. Taking her hands, he gently pulled her toward a stone bench away from the door and any prying eyes that might peer out from inside. He sat, drawing her down onto the bench to sit beside him. He reached a hand up to tilt up her chin and wipe tears from her face. She looked miserable—miserable and embarrassed.

"Christine," he said quietly. "I could never be angry with you. Especially not for… the things you said. I only ask…" He swallowed. "I only want to ask if they were true."

She could not look away, not when he still held her chin in his hand. But she could not speak. She didn't need to, though. Her eyes spoke volumes for her, showing that those things _were_ true. He let go of his hold on her chin, taking her hand back in his. "I don't think I shall ever be angry at you," he whispered.

"I'll remind you someday when you're yelling at me from across the room," she said with a small smile. "Or from across a stage. Or a lake."

He gave a small laugh. "I suppose."

She stared up at him for a moment, even though she could have looked away, and asked, "Could we try again? No anger, no jealousy, nothing like before—just starting over. Could we?"

He smiled at her. "We could."

Erik didn't dare move as she slid a bit closer to him on the polished marble and leaned her head against his shoulder, looking up at the stars again. He moved a hand from hers to wrap an arm around her waist, still holding tightly to the other. For a long time, they were silent, neither speaking but both aware of every breath, sigh, move of the other.

The door to the terrace opened and the pulled away from each other, turning to see Bellona in her golden gown, looking about, apparently confused. When she found them, her expression cleared. She smiled. "Raoul and I have been looking for you for almost an hour. Are you feeling alright?"

Christine nodded and smiled back. "I'm fine now, thank you."

"You should get back in here," she said, grinning. "People are getting drunk and want to dance like peasants. It's amazing.'

Indeed it was. Walking inside, a group of the guests had started something of an Irish gig, and Christine laughed as she saw a pair of Beauvis nobility spinning in circles like small children.

The rest of the night proceeded as such until two in the morning. By then, Bellona had dragged Dr. Renault upstairs to check on Aimée, Raoul had made an ass out of himself, standing on top of a chair and declaring his never ending love for Bell and telling Erik that he would try really hard to not fuck this one up. Nadir and Raja had performed some type of Persian dance for everyone, and Christine had fallen asleep on the stairs sometime around midnight.

Now, the guests were gone and everyone was in bed except for Erik and Christine. Waving a farewell to the final carriage, he turned, closing the door and waving for the tired butler to lock up, before stepping up several stairs and lifting the still sleeping Christine into his arms. She stirred against his chest and her eyelids fluttered open.

"Is the party over?" she mumbled.

"Yes, _petit_, it's over."

She smiled at the pet name and rested her head against his shoulder. Carefully, he set her down on the bed. She yawned and stretched. "Is it late?"

"Early. You should go to sleep."

"I have to get out of this dress, first," she said sleepily. "Is the maid still awake?"

"I don't think so," he said. "Why?"

"I need help unlacing my corset," she said, her cheeks turning pink for the thousandth time that night. "I don't suppose…"

For a moment, Erik was confused. Then… "Oh," he said, turning as red as Christine. He gently rolled her onto her stomach, reaching down to unhook and untie the back of her dress. She inhaled sharply as his fingers passed over the bare skin of her back. As quickly as he could, he untied the laces at the back of her corset and stood up from the bed. Without a word, terrified that he would betray himself, he left her room for his. Once inside, he forced himself to breathe deeply. He had _not_ just undressed her… had he? No—he had helped her. And undressed her… partially.

Shit. Shit!

A knock at the door jolted Erik from his thoughts. Crossing the room, he ran a weary hand through his hair before opening the door. Christine stood on the other side dressed in her nightgown and a dressing gown and looking a bit more than exhausted. She was pouting a bit, and she looked adorable as she asked, "Did I upset you?"

Erik managed a choked laugh. "No," he said. Reaching out, he pulled her against him, and she leaned heavily against his chest.

"Goodnight," she murmured. Pulling back a bit, she leaned up and placed a gentle kiss against his cheek. "Sleep well."

She left, and he leaned against the door, eyes closed, for a long time before he managed to drag himself off to bed, still dressed.

_a/n Okay. You won't hear from me for a while because I have finals, packing shit, move out, move back into my hole in my basement at my mom's, new job, yadda yadda yadda… But review and it may be a faster process. Love ya!_


	14. Chapter 13

a/n Alrighty then. We're not going to talk about the  
last couple of months, because it's not my favorite  
topic. Suffice it to say that a lot has been going on  
with me, some good some bad, and I haven't been able  
to update. It's going to be slow going, but I'm going  
to get back into the swing of this. Hit me up with  
some reviews and the process might go a bit faster. I  
love you all! 

a/n 2 If you read any of my stuff, you KNOW I'm not a  
big quote/poetry user, but I stumbled across this one  
by accident and I thought it was lovely and  
wonderfully appropriate for this chapter. Also, you'll notice that the way this is written out is very, very odd. It's not actually a long chapter. I just don't know how to run a Mac. If anyone writes on here and uses a Mac or knows how to use an eMac, PLEASE e-mail or PM me and help me!

**CHAPTER 13—SWEET KISSES**

**_Summer Love_**

_The sweet, rustic smell of the rain,  
Fills my nose, my head, and my brain.  
The springtime showers soak my dress,  
and toes tingle with a grassy caress.  
The beauty of this day is lost to me,  
As the deaf man hears not the melody.  
For all Nature's wonders seem so dim,  
When I am here, standing next to him._

_--Valerie Dawn Keller--_

The next morning seemed to come too soon for  
Christine—she woke early, unable to sleep very long.  
Looking at the clock on the bedside table, she  
realized, with a groan, that it truly was too early.  
The hands indicated the ungodly hour of half past five  
in the morning.

Curling her legs beneath her, Christine sat in a  
tailor-position as she rubbed her eyes and stretched  
before looking around. Light was not yet peeking  
through the heavy over-curtains of her windows and she  
heaved a sigh as she resigned herself to the fact that  
there was too much going on in her head and she was  
going to be the only one awake for at least another  
three or four hours.

As she walked downstairs, though, she realized she was  
wrong.

Bellona turned the corner from the dining room, Aimée  
in her arms. The older woman smiled at Christine, a  
hint of surprise evident in her green eyes.

"What are you doing up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep," Christine answered. "You?"

"She couldn't sleep," Bellona answered, a small frown  
creasing her forehead as she looked down at her  
daughter. "She's got this cold and it makes her so  
fussy. She's starting to make me fussy!" Bellona shook  
her head and heaved a sigh before putting a smile on  
her face. "If you want coffee, there's some in there.  
Don't ask me why—I guess the maid couldn't sleep  
either."

Christine smiled back gratefully and stepped into the  
dining room to pour a cup before rejoining Bell in the  
hallway. She found the other woman standing in the  
doorway to the parlor with an odd look on her face.  
Christine gave her a quizzical look. All she got in  
reply was an almost-amused, "Well."

Christine followed her gaze to the plush love seat in  
the corner. She was lost for words as Bellona dryly  
added, "That's something you don't see every day."

"I thought he was celibate."

"Self-imposed.

He misses his wife. Or _missed_, I suppose."

"Oh, my."

"'Oh, my'? More like, 'What the fuck is our father  
going to say?'"

"Anything he says can be rebuffed by his feelings  
toward me. Besides, she's older than me."

"Only by a year or two."

"Still. A year or two can make all the difference in  
the world. Anyway, there has to be a way that he  
doesn't have to find out about this…"

"I can't believe this—this just isn't right. That  
man's like an uncle to us! Isn't there a blanket  
somewhere around here?"

"On the back of the love seat."

"Maybe we should shake them."

"Oh, yes, Bellona, let's wake your father's best  
friend and your sister while they're half-naked on the  
love seat in your father's parlor. I'm sure the sound  
of screaming and shouts won't carry upstairs and wake  
the entire house."

"Or worse—just Papa."

"Why is that worse?"

"Because you'd be the only one here to hold him  
back—I've got a handful of baby."

Lost for anything else to do, Christine pulled the  
door shut as Bellona stepped to the side to pick up a  
silver ashtray left on a nearby table from the night  
before. She mimed dropping it onto the floor and  
Christine nodded and stepped back a bit. Bellona  
looked upward, as if pleading with God not to let the  
sound of the silver falling to the floor carry or wake  
Aimée. As the ashtray clattered to the floor, Bell  
and Christine held their breath for a second before  
Christine said, just loud enough to be heard in the  
next room, "What was that? Are you all right?"

"Ashtray," Bell said in the same volume voice. "I  
bumped into this table and it fell. I hope it didn't  
wake anyone."

"Don't be ridiculous. There's no one down here to  
hear." Christine crossed back to Bellona, her feet  
falling a bit harder than normally. "Would you care  
for some more coffee?"

"I'd love some more coffee!" Bellona exclaimed.  
Christine gave her an odd look and Bell mouthed,  
_Overly perky?_

Christine nodded and the pair of them walked back down  
the hall, trying to be quiet, but not too quiet.  
After several minutes of sitting in the dining room,  
they were beginning to think it hadn't worked when  
Bellona heard rustling in the hallway. The stairs  
creaked a bit until the owner of the feet climbing  
them reached the top. Or what was supposed to be  
assumed by Bellona and Christine to be the bottom.

Nadir came around the corner, looking flushed as he  
reached for the carafe. "Good morning, ladies."

"Good morning, Nadir," Bell said, yawning. "I didn't  
wake you with my clumsiness, did I? I know you're a  
light sleeper and I'd hate it if I—"

"It's fine, Bellona," he said. "I couldn't sleep,  
anyway."

Her eyes gleamed as she nodded her head. "I guess  
not." She stood, placing her now empty cup on the  
table, and smiled. "I'm going to see if I can't get  
her and I back to sleep." She winked at Christine who  
quickly lowered her gaze to study her coffee.

Nadir sat down across from Christine, a small,  
uncharacteristic smirk playing across his lips.  
"Well, Christine," he said, "I trust the evening was  
enjoyable for you?"

Christine felt her face color a bit, but she refused  
to be embarrassed. She, after all, had not spent the  
night half-dressed in the arms of a member of the  
opposite sex. She smirked right back and said, "Very  
much so. I would have thought you did, as well, but  
you disappeared after dinner. I hope you were not  
unwell—did the food disagree with you?"

There was a brief silence between the two of them  
before Nadir cleared his throat and said, "I—was  
detained."

"I'm sure you were," she said, an atypically wicked  
flint in her eyes. "I don't suppose you know where  
Raja was, then. We looked for her, but didn't seem to  
find her anywhere!"

"I've no idea where she was," he said, stuttering a  
bit. He seemed to be anxious to change the subject,  
as he said, "What are your plans for today?"

"I'm not sure," Christine said. "I think it's  
planning on raining." She looked out the window. The  
sun seemed to be rising, but there had been no stars  
before it, and there was no morning star now. The  
moon seemed to have disappeared a good hour earlier  
than normal, and the bit of sunlight peeking over the  
horizon was poking through a few thin and empty  
spots. The sky should have been orange and gold.  
Instead, it was a deep blue-gray over a streak of red,  
that same color that precedes a morning of rain.  
Christine gave a sigh as she resigned herself to a day  
stuck inside with embroidery.

Nadir seemed to be reading her mind.

"I'm sure you'll find something to keep you busy," he  
said. "If you were feeling particularly adventurous,  
you could always attempt to tidy up the solarium a  
bit. I understand it's been in a bit of disarray  
since Erik bought the place. The gardeners haven't  
quite gotten around to it yet."

Christine smiled brightly. "For your brilliant idea,  
I shall keep your silence."

Nadir choked a bit on his coffee.

As he spluttered and attempted to clean himself up a  
bit, he stared wide-eyed at Christine. "What?"

"You should really thank Bellona," she said. "She  
didn't want Erik's wrath to fall on you—you've seen  
how he is with Raoul."

Nadir coughed a bit more as Christine laughed, but  
both of them quickly composed themselves as Erik  
entered the room. Perhaps, though, they still looked  
a bit suspicious, as he gave Nadir an odd look before  
turning his gaze to her. She smiled, feeling a blush  
creep up her neck and cheeks. "Good morning," she  
murmured.

"You slept well, I trust?"

Erik cleared his throat and sat down across from her,  
down a seat from Nadir who was determinedly staring  
into his coffee.

"Time to pray, I think," he murmured suddenly. He  
rose, and without another word left the room.

A silence settled between the pair and Christine gave  
a nervous cough before saying, "I think I'd like to  
work a bit in the solarium today. It's such a mess,  
and God knows I've got nothing to do."

"Ah." Erik took a sip of coffee and Christine could  
have sworn she saw his face fall.

She quickly added, "Unless there was something you  
would rather do." She paused. "You know—together?"

"No, no, it's fine."

"Really, Erik, I'd love to spend the day however you  
want." Another pause. "You could help me. I'm sure  
there are things out there that could be moved that  
are much too heavy for a woman. I simply need a  
strong pair of hands."

This last statement came out dripping in an innuendo  
Christine did not intend for it—she did not, however,  
attempt to correct it.

He stared at his coffee for a moment before looking up  
at her, a smile playing across his lips. "I'd like  
that."

She smiled back and nodded once before returning to  
her coffee. It was certainly going to be an  
interesting day.

* * *

"No, I think that should go over there." 

"But don't you think it's a bit… I don't know… awkward  
there?"

"Oh, no! I think it'll catch a great deal of lovely  
sunlight over there."

"If there were sunlight."

"Oh, stop it. It can't rain forever."

The solarium had come a long way from the mess it had  
been that morning. Christine had been rearranging  
potted plants all morning and Erik had been tossing  
out dead plants and moving heavy metal tables around  
to Christine's direction. It was well past noon at  
that point, and Christine suddenly realized how hungry  
she was. She mentioned this to Erik.

"We should stop to eat, I suppose," he said, casting  
one last look at the large, exotic plant Christine had  
just moved. "Really, though—you don't think that  
looks—"

"It does not look odd here. I like it." She tilted  
her chin up a bit. "Besides, didn't you know that  
women are always correct?"

"I thought that only applied to Italian women."

"Everything but."

"Careful—I have an Italian daughter."

"That's what I was speaking of." Smiling brightly at  
the stunned look on Erik's face, Christine turned,  
grabbing his hand and dragging him to the kitchen.  
"Come on—I'm hungry."

Once in the kitchen with plates in front of them, Erik  
glanced up at Christine. She was biting into her  
dessert early, and he was amused to see that she had a  
bit of whipped cream on her nose. He debated now  
telling her, but he couldn't help a chuckle at the  
fact that she was attempting to be so prim while  
unknowingly having that bit of white on her face. She  
looked up when he began to chortle, asking what was  
funny. It only became worse when she asked, "Do I  
have something on my face?"

He was practically rolling and she frowned, wiping  
around her mouth. "Is it off?"

Managing to quell his laughter enough to reach across  
the counter, Erik gently cupped her cheek in his hand  
and brushed the white foam from the very tip of her  
nose. He lingered for a moment, still holding her  
face, before he withdrew. A small smile lingered on  
his lips as he showed her his thumb. "See?"

Obviously, she was trying to hide her embarrassment,  
which made her all the lovelier to him. Still  
laughing a bit, he absentmindedly popped his thumb in  
his mouth to get rid of the cream before returning to  
his lunch. They were quiet for several minutes as  
they ate, but Erik found himself pleased with the  
silence. It was one of those comfortable silences  
when two people did not need to speak—when they were  
comfortable enough to simply enjoy the peace and quiet  
of each others company. It was pleasant—something  
Erik was not used to.

He finished before Christine, who had been continually  
wiping at her face with a napkin throughout her meal.  
He had found this utterly adorable and he smiled to  
himself as she slowly finished eating.

When she was done, she smiled at him and placed her  
napkin on the table. "What shall we do now?"

"No more of the solarium today, please," he begged,  
half joking and half serious.

Christine laughed.

"No more of the solarium." She looked out of the  
window, heaving a sigh. "I hate the rain. You can't  
ever do anything when it's raining."

"You could always needlepoint," he replied, a small  
smirk on his face. The prospect of Christine sitting  
with a needle and threat amused him to no end.

When she made a face, he laughed outright. "I have  
several compositions I need to finish before I send  
them to the publisher, so I'll be in the music room  
for the rest of the day. There's no end to the  
subjects in the library, if you'd care to read."

A small sigh escaped from her lips, her face still  
turned toward the window. The look on her face was  
almost disappointed, but Erik could not understand why  
she would be so. He stood, clearing away their plates  
and setting them in the sink to be washed. Turning,  
he saw that her face was wistful as she stared into  
the rain coming from a slowly darkening sky. "Are you  
all right?"

She turned, and the smile crossing her face seemed  
somewhat forced. "Of course I am," she said quickly.  
Then, standing, she left the kitchen without another  
word.

Erik stood for a moment, a bit confused about her  
sudden change of demeanor, then shook it off as female  
hormones before heading up to his music room.

As he climbed the stairs, a burst crying from upstairs  
met his ears. He reached the top in time to see a  
tired-looking Bellona emerge from her bedroom. Erik  
waved a hand toward her, telling her to go back to  
sleep. She smiled her thanks before turning and  
retreating to her room.

Erik paused for a moment before turning away from the  
music room and heading toward Aimée's room. When he  
opened the door, a burst of sound hit his ears, and he  
shut the door behind him before rushing across to the  
bassinet and lifting the screaming baby from it. He  
felt around her diaper--she was not wet. She had  
eaten less than an hour ago. He soon found that she  
only wanted attention. He smiled as he realized how  
spoiled she was. She could not be awake and not have  
attention. Erik found himself not minding. As she  
looked up at him with wide eyes, he smiled down at  
her. He bounced her up and down a bit, making little  
noises at her. Suddenly, she let out a gurgling laugh  
and smiled up at him. A broad grin crossed his face  
as she continued her little laugh at the sounds he  
made. He heard the door open behind him, and he  
turned, his face puckered up, to see Bellona and Raoul  
standing in the door. Bell burst into laughter at the  
odd face, and Aimée squealed with delight at the sight  
of her mother.

Bellona lifted her daughter from her father's arms,  
smiling. "What's so funny, _bambini_?" she asked,  
bouncing Aimée up and down a bit. "Is _papi_ making  
noises at you? Is he being silly?" She grinned up at  
Erik. "I can't believe you made her laugh!" Aimée  
let out another laugh and Bell smiled back down at  
her. "_La mia ragazza cara del bambini--siete così  
divertenti_!"

Raoul smiled, shaking his head as he passed his hand  
over Aimée's shock of dark hair. "Her first words are  
going to be in Italian, just you wait," he said,  
watching as his fiancée cooed down at their daughter.  
"I won't know what she's saying."

"How did you survive in Venice if you can speak  
Italian?" Erik asked.

Raoul smiled sheepishly. "_'Parlez-vous français_.' I  
speak Italian, but I have a tendency to insult when I  
speak it--my inflection is terrible. What did she  
say, anyway?"

"I told our darling baby that she's silly!" Bellona  
never seemed to miss a beat. "And don't insult  
yourself so. Your Italian is getting better every  
day."

Erik smiled, kissing her on the cheek. "I have work  
to do. You have fun."

She didn't seem to hear him--she was too absorbed in  
the smile on her daughter's face. Erik left the room,  
still somewhat distracted over little Aimée's first  
laugh, and ran right into Christine. She nearly  
toppled over and he managed to right himself in time  
to catch her. She leaned against him for a moment  
before she pulled back, smiling. "I thought you were  
going to write."

"I was," he said. "Aimée needed attention."

A small snort of laughter escaped from Christine's  
lips. "You spoil her so."

"She's my only grandchild," he said, puffing up a bit.  
"Of course I spoil her." Christine laughed at this,  
and Erik smiled, pleased to have amused her, even if  
he hadn't meant to. "I can't write now. Would you  
care to sit on the porch with me?"

She smile again, but it was a different kind of smile  
this time--more tender. "I would love to."

He offered her arm, and she took it. He turned and  
they walked away from the nursery, down the  
stairs--through the sitting room and through the side  
door to the wraparound porch.

It was still pouring down rain and Erik inhaled  
deeply. Something about the rain appealed to Erik.  
He couldn't think of why. Nothing good had ever come  
from the rain, had it?

His mind suddenly flashed back to the night Bellona  
had given birth to her daughter. It had been raining  
when Raoul had arrived with Christine. He'd been so  
worried that she would become ill that he'd hardly  
realized she was really there. He remembered thinking  
that it was as if she had come from the rain  
itself--she was soaked through and smelled like clean  
rain.

A gentle touch on his arm jerked him from his  
thoughts. Christine was staring into his face with  
what appeared to be concern. "Are you all right?" she  
asked.

Erik nodded, taking her hand from his arm, but not  
releasing it. Gently, afraid that she would pull away  
if he moved too quickly, he pulled her a bit closer,  
pleased when she offered up no resistance at all. On  
the contrary, she actually moved closer to him,  
pressing her free hand against his chest and resting  
her head on his shoulder. It took him a moment to  
respond to this--it had surprised him a bit. After a  
moment, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and  
rested his chin on top of her chestnut curls, still  
not letting go of her hand, which he held in the crook  
of his neck.

For a time, neither of them moved. They merely held  
each other--not clinging as if to life, but the  
comfortable embrace of lovers. Erik moved his head  
down to press his good cheek against hers. She leaned  
into him and he let go of her hand to turn her face  
gently toward hers. He watched her just long enough  
to see her brown eyes flutter shut before he closed  
his own green ones and pressed his lips tenderly  
against her soft ones. He felt more than heard her  
inhale sharply as he tightened his grip on her waist,  
moving his lips a bit against hers as he cupped the  
back of her head in his hand, tilting it up. He was  
surprised by her yet again when he felt her move to  
deepen their kiss, and he allowed it, kissing her back  
and pulling her a bit closer.

They parted so slowly that Erik did not realize it  
until he felt a rush of cool wind from the rain  
against his lips. He opened his eyes to find that  
hers were still shut. He softly brushed his lips  
before pulling her toward the bench and gently putting  
her head on his shoulder. She gave a contented sigh  
and snuggled up a bit closer to him, looking out into  
the rain.

It wasn't long before that rain had lulled both of  
them into sleep just deep enough that neither of them  
woke with Bellona came outside and covered them both  
in a blanket before returning to her smiling husband  
and daughter.

_a/n Yes, another one of these. I'm starting to  
realize that stuff that makes sense to me may only  
make sense in my head. Here's a bit of info to  
hopefully make all this a bit easier to digest. Let  
me know if I get confusing and I'll put more of this  
backstory-ish stuff up._

_-Aimée is about seven weeks old, around when babies  
start to smile a bit and sometimes laugh. She was  
about a month old at the end of chapter 10. That's  
not necessarily too early for sex after pregnancy--I  
have a girlfriend who popped out a baby three weeks  
ago and she's at it again. She's just really insanely  
tired all the time._

_-Erik was never really upset by his daughter's  
pregnancy because he had so little family. I like to  
think that he refuses to shun his daughters off to the  
side because of what he went through as a child. He  
still doesn't like Raoul--he just tolerates him to  
keep his daughter happy--her temper makes even him a  
little nervous, and he doesn't want to set it off._

_-Raoul's Italian really does suck. A friend of mine  
told me the most adorable story of how his brother met  
his wife in a foreign country (I can't remember which)  
and could hardly speak two words of whatever, but she  
spoke English and translated for him when his native  
language became insulting. Raoul also isn't entirely  
comfortable living in Erik's house, but his attitude  
toward Bellona is like Erik's--he loves her and knows  
better than to piss her off._

_-Raja and Nadir. Where do I begin with Raja and  
Nadir? I've been planning this from the beginning.  
She tells Nadir more than she tells her father. She  
darns everybody's socks, even his. He's been  
protecting her for her whole life. Remember when they  
left Erik and Christine alone together when Bellona  
was giving birth? Ulterior motives, man. When Erik  
and Christine come back from getting her dress,  
they're out on the lawn, alone. Later, at the  
dinner/ball thingie that I wrote so badly, Christine  
looks around and says she can't find them. They  
magically reappear later, dancing drunkenly, before  
they disappear. When they pop up again, it's at the  
beginning of this chapter. No sex, just... kinky  
stuff._

_-Bellona never jumped Raoul at the ball because she  
didn't want Erik to know she'd been there. If she'd  
come forward, he'd know she didn't trust him, and she  
didn't want to upset him. Instead, in a fit of  
pregnancy hormones, she vowed to kill Christine and  
would up grudgingly liking her a bit.  
_


	15. Chapter 14

_a/n And here, dear readers, is what some of you have been waiting for—we're earning our rating. Again, if anyone at all knows how to get these files to save right and can tell me what to do (see note at beginning of previous chapter) PLEASE get in touch with me and let me know. Thanks!_

_Also, I just noticed how totally long this chapter is… I've not been able to update so a lot goes on since I just kept typing… that and I suck at transitioning. Notice—I put a time frame in, which I don't usually do, so assume that much progress has been made in this time. SO! Enjoy the ride and let me know what you think of your reward for such an obnoxiously long wait._

**CHAPTER 14—A PLUNGE**

_Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. _

_Langston Hughes _

**One Month Later**

It had been a wonderful day, Erik decided, as he sat with a glass of good brandy in one hand and Christine's gloved hand in the other. He hated to admit it, but perhaps his daughter was well off with that boy. The carriage was getting farther and farther away now, and most of the few remaining guests had gone back inside, but Erik remained on the porch bench with Christine, watching until they were looking at the sunset. It was particularly lovely tonight, and he turned to Christine, giving her hand a small squeeze. She looked exhausted.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked. When she did not answer, he gave her a small shake. "Christine?"

Her head came up slowly and she put a hand to her flushed forehead. "Hmm?"

Erik frowned. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said softly. "I'm just so tired."

"Come," he said, standing up. "Let's get you to your room." He held out his hand. She took it, getting to her feet slowly and swaying a bit where she stood, almost collapsing. "Christine!"

"I'm sorry, Erik," she mumbled. "I'm so tired." She collapsed into his chest.

"Christine!" She had fainted. He gave her another gentle shake as he called out to her again. Her eyes fluttered open. "Christine, I need you to talk to me—do you understand?" She nodded slowly. "How long have you felt like this?"

"Last night," she muttered, her head swaying groggily. "I want to go to sleep, Erik."

"Christine, I need you to stay awake," he said forcefully, shaking her again. Her eyes opened a bit more. "What's wrong—does anything hurt?"

"Everything's so tired..."

"You mean everything hurts?"

"Yes." She swayed again. "Please, I want to go to bed. It's so cold out here."

It was a relatively warm May night.

He put his cheek against her forehead. She was burning up. "Christine?"

"Please, I want to sit by the fire—I'm cold." She collapsed again, this time not waking when he shook her. Lifting her in his arms, he turned and called to Nadir. When he appeared, Erik shifted Christine's limp form and said, "I want you to take Raja and Aimée to a hotel in town, then fetch a doctor. Bring him back here, then immediately go back to the girls."

"What's wrong with her?" Nadir asked in a hushed voice.

"It sounds like influenza," he said. "I don't want Aimée to get ill—I don't know if she'd survive." He turned away before the tears that threatened him could fall in front of Nadir. Calling over his shoulder, he added, "And get rid of the guests that are left."

Walking inside, Erik carried Christine up to the third floor and down a long corridor to a room in the back of the house, one they never used. When the house had been built many years ago, its construction had included a small room with a fire place and window with a small closet. At first, Erik had thought this to be a servants room, but the previous owners informed him that it was a sick room. It was isolated from the rest of the house and contained the bare necessities so that there would be very little to clean or burn when the patient was no longer ill.

Resting her on the bed, he opened the closet, taking out a simple cotton shift and breathing in deeply. She was ill, he told himself. She couldn't stay in what she was wearing now—he'd probably burn it, anyway. Or at least have one of the maids use lime soap on it. Shaking her gently to rouse her, he felt a flicker of joy when her brown eyes flickered open. Quietly, he told her to raise her arms so he could remove her dress. She offered no objection, seeming glad to be rid of the heavy dress. She leaned back into the pillows and he stared for a moment.

"How much damn clothing do they need to wear?" he muttered as he went to work removing the petticoat about her waist.

Having removed the petticoat and left her in very little, he rolled her onto her side to undo the laces of her embroidered pink corset. When he rolled her onto her back again, her eyes were closed. He swallowed hard before pulling it off gingerly, tossing it on top of the dress. He tried not to gawk as he gently pulled of the chemise over her head, but he couldn't help looking a bit out of the corner of his eye. As he gingerly removed her pantalets, he just caught a glimpse of her small, yet supple breasts and her toned stomach. He pulled her eyes away before they could drift any lower, and quickly put her into the cotton shift from the closet.

Gently, he reached down and brushed a hand across her cheek. She was burning up with fever. He looked around the room, wishing he hadn't given all the servants the night off for the occasion. They deserved it—they'd worked hard over the last two weeks getting everything ready—but now there was no one to help him while he waited for the doctor. The only people even on the estate were a stable boy and his sister, a maid, both of whom lived in the cottage at the other end of the estate.

Just as he was thinking of getting up to get water and a cloth, there was a soft knock on the door. Confused, he walked across the room. It was too early for Nadir to be back...

It was the maid, holding an armful of firewood. "When the gentleman fetched Jules, he said Miss Christine had taken ill. I came to see if you need help. I've brought you some firewood to warm her."

Never in his life had Erik been so grateful to see a woman that was not a relative to him. He ushered her inside. "Thank you..." he paused. "I'm sorry, I can't remember your name."

She smiled as she placed some of the wood into the fireplace and set the rest off to the side, standing back up to survey Christine. "It's Rochelle." Looking down, the smile faded from her face. She ran a gentle hand over Christine's face. "She's very warm. I'll fetch some cool water. Do you need anything?"

Erik shook his head and Rochelle bustled from the room. Glancing around, he saw a comfortable-looking chair and dragged it to Christine's bedside, taking her hand and brushing it across his lips. Her eyes opened and she blinked groggily. "Erik?"

He smiled down at her. "You gave me a scare, Christine."

She looked around. "Where am I?"

"You're in a quiet room upstairs," he said softly. "Nadir's gone to fetch a doctor and to take Raja and Aimée to a hotel so Aimée doesn't get sick." He brushed his hand against her cheek and she leaned into it.

"I'm so tired," she said, a tear leaking out of her eye and sliding down her cheek. "And it's cold."

As Erik stood to start the fire, someone behind him said, "I'll get that for you, sir." Rochelle was back, bringing a bowl of water and a washrag. "You get that rag on her forehead and try to break her fever." She placed the bowl on the table next to the bed, handing him the cloth.

Wetting it, Erik placed the cloth on Christine's forehead. She exhaled softly. "That feels nice," she murmured. She looked up at him. "Aimée is gone?"

"Yes." He turned the rag over. "I was worried she'd get sick."

"Good," she said quietly. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to her."

Erik shushed her gently. "Get some rest. The doctor should be here soon."

"Will you stay here with me?"

He smiled. "Of course I will."

* * *

Erik had been correct in assuming that Christine had the flu, but it wasn't as bad as he had initially thought. The doctor had said that she had collapsed because she had over exhausted herself with the strain of the day. It would have been likely she would have passed out on the sofa in any case. 

Still, she would likely be confined to bed for at least a week. The doctor had given her pain killers of some sort and promised to come back daily to check on her. Before he left, though, he gave Erik a warning.

"She's very strong and I'm sure she'll pull through just fine," he murmured as Erik walked him to the front door. "Make sure she has plenty of fluids. Keep in mind, she's very ill and the fever could make her delirious. She may speak and not make sense, but don't be alarmed—that's perfectly normal."

Erik knew this, but he hadn't really thought of it. He shook the doctor's hand and let him out before going back upstairs.

Rochelle was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Christine, one hand clasping Christine's and the other holding the damp cloth to Christine's head. The maid looked up as Erik entered. "I think she's asleep, now," she said softly. Her brow furrowed slightly. "She kept saying something about her angel. All she would say to me was that she wanted her angel."

Erik felt a small smile tug at his lips. "Thank you, Rochelle." He sat down in the chair, taking Christine's hand. "Would you be willing to make something for us for eat? I'm sure you and Jules must be hungry."

Rochelle smiled. "I am," she said. "I'll make us some sandwiches." Erik nodded and turned back to Christine as she left. He brushed her curls back and, risking illness, leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

Her eyelids fluttered, but closed once again. "Angel?"

"I'm right here." Erik lifted her hand from her side and squeezed it gently. She gave a small, indecipherable murmur and shifted slightly in her sleep. Erik entwined his fingers in hers and settled back into his chair.

* * *

The next few days were long ones for Erik and Rochelle, to whom Erik had given the task of helping him to take care of Christine in her illness. Her fever spiked dangerously high and at one point, the doctor had told Erik to prepare himself, but the next morning she had awoken, blinking around confusedly, very much alive and much cooler to the touch. 

The fever broke later that day, but Christine still felt exhausted. Erik knew she would for at least another week. He stayed by her side, pressing the cool cloth to her head when she was hot and stoking the fire when she was cold. His reward was her gradually returning health and looks of such tenderness that he was nearly moved to tears.

It had been two weeks since Christine had ventured from the room to anywhere other than the water closet, and she was growing restless. One afternoon, telling Erik that she felt that her strength had returned enough, she asked if he would accompany her on a walk around the grounds. After a brief hesitation, he took her hand and helped her to her own room. He left her with Rochelle, who had shown such loyalty over the last two weeks that Erik felt like giving her a raise and several paid days off.

When Christine emerged several minutes later, it struck Erik how much weight she had lost and how pale she was. She seemed to see the worry in his eyes.

"I'm fine," she said softly, taking his hand. "A walk in the fresh air will do me good." He smiled down at her, kissing her fingers gently. "Tell me if you get too tired. We'll come back right away."

They headed out the front door, hand in hand, and strolled across the lawn. They were quiet for a while as Christine took in the clean, fresh air, so different from the stale air of the sick room inside. She didn't care if she never went back into the house. She looked about as Erik led her around to the back of the property. She smiled up at him. 

"I never realized all of this was back here," she said, nodding at the little path leading into the woods behind the house.

"I didn't realize it was back here until after I had purchased the property," he said with a small laugh. "Bellona started yelling at me one day and left to take a walk. She was the one that found it." He squeezed her hand as they came to a small stream. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm just a little tired," she said. "Can we rest for a moment?"

Erik's reply was to lift her up onto the railing of the little bridge going over the stream, holding her about the waist as her feet dangled beneath her. She smiled up at him before pulling him closer, resting her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He tried not to show his surprise and kept his hands where they wre and resting his chin on the top of her head as he stared off into the woods.

They were quiet for a long time while Christine leaned against him, resting. After several minutes, she said, "Do you think I'll have been fired?"

"No." Erik let one hand reach up to tilt her chin up so he could look at her. She propped her chin against his chest as he said, "I sent a letter to the theatre and to the church. They both wish you well. You can probably go back next week."

She smiled up at him. "Thank you," she said softly. She didn't look away as her hands slid up his chest, pressing at the back of his neck and pulling him down. Her lips gently pressed against his, and he felt her release a sigh of what seemed to be relief. He shifted his hands and deepened their kiss as he wrapped an arm around her back and cradled her head in his other hand. Their tongues tangled desperately as Christine tried just as desperately to pull him closer. The result was her still sitting on the railing while Erik stood in front of her, between her knees. The hand around her back slid forward and brushed her cheek before traveling down her neck, massaging the skin there and sliding down to the side of her breast. She inhaled sharply and he stepped a bit closer until her legs were wrapped around the backs of his. A loud moan coming deep from her throat did little to dampen Erik's arousal, and she had to be able to feel it pressing against her. His musings were conformed when she thrust her hips forward a bit to try to relieve the pressure she felt that was growing deep inside her and spreading warmth throughout her entire body.

The pair of them were so involved in what they were doing that neither of them noticed either of two things. The first was the distant rumble of thunder that had become so familiar with the constant storms of the last few weeks.

The second was how close Christine was to falling off the railing.

A sudden loud clap of thunder startled both of them and Erik lost his hold on Christine. Her legs straightened out when she jumped, and her eyes widened as she felt her balance failing her, and she tried to grab onto Erik's shirt. He tried to brace himself, but it was too late. The old railing gave way as he leaned heavily into it and both of them toppled into the stream below.

For a moment, both of them were silent. Then, after several seconds, Christine let out a small snort of laughter and they both burst into hysterics. Erik laughed harder than he thought he ever had in his life. It only got worse when the sky split open and it began to rain.

"This is perfect!" Christine shouted over the torrent. "We have to get back to the house!"

Erik shook his head, pulling her to her feet. "I know somewhere closer." He lifted her easily into his arms and she laughed, looping her arms around his neck as he carried her out of the stream. He carried her all the way to a small cabin a bit further in the woods. He knew that the family before him had had a groundskeeper that lived here, but many of Erik's employees lived in town. The little shack had been abandoned for well over a year, but upon entrance, he saw that there was still a pile of wood in one corner. There was a bed in the opposite corner, which Erik tried not to stare at. There was a very small kitchen, which he doubted held any food that was good. A small door led to what he could only assume was the bathroom. Another was a closet, only holding several quilts. Erik pulled two of them out, handing the larger one to Christine.

"You need to get out of those clothes before you get sick again," he said, nodding toward the bathroom. He was too embarrassed to look at her, but if he had, he would have seen her cheeks flaming red.

After she was in the bathroom, he hurriedly stripped down, wrapping the quilt above his waist then setting about to start a fire. He found some matches on the mantle and kindling with the wood and within a few minutes, he had a roaring fire. He knelt in front of the fire for another five minutes before the bathroom door opened behind him. Turning, he felt the breath knocked out of him at the sight of her.

Her shoulders were bare and her damp curls hung down on them. One hand held her wet clothes. The other clutched the quilt up. She was blushing as she padded silently across the room, placing her dress on the chair he had placed near the fireplace just for that purpose. Erik was thankful that the knot at the front of the quilt around his waist slightly concealed the erection that began to stir at the sight of her bare back. He was not sure what made him do it—he did not even realize what he was doing—but he reached out to brush his fingers across the skin there. She jerked upright, turning quickly. Her face was beet red and he took a step back, his hand still suspended.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I—I didn't—"

Before he could finish, she took two steps forward, taking his hand and drawing it back to her. She gently placed it on the small of her back as she closed the distance between them. Timidly, she reached up, pulling his head down for a kiss. In a flash, his other hand was at her back, as well, tracing up and down. Christine's hands were in his hair pulling him closer as his lips left her mouth to lavish attention on her neck. Her breath came in short gasps as he gently pulled her toward the bed.

His expert touch was new to Christine, and it lit a fire inside her that spread through her veins all the way down to her curling toes. She gave a small squeal when Erik swept her off her feet and placed her on the bed. She was surprised when he sat down next to her, staring into the fire. Afraid she had made some mistake, she sat up, brushing a gentle hand across his back. He did not move—he simply stared. Christine could feel her hopes drop the longer he was quiet.

"Erik?" She folded her hands in her lap. "Did I do something wrong?"

Erik's head jerked around to look at her in amazement. "God, no," he whispered. "It's just..." He trailed off and looked down at her clasped hands. "You deserve someone better than me. Someone..." He made a face. "Someone handsome."

Christine smiled tenderly at him, reaching up to pull away his mask. Grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her, she whispered, "You are handsome."

There was a moment when she thought it would not matter what she said—that he would still be stubborn as ever. Then, he reached up to pull her face to his and the spell was broken. The quilt wrapped around her pooled at her waist as he kissed her, and she desperately pulled her to him, pressing her bare chest against his. She gasped at the contact, unlike anything she had ever felt before. He leaned back on the bed, pulling her on top of him and pushing away the quilt. His eyes, glazed over with passion, raked over her perfect form. He brushed his fingertips across her breasts and Christine arched her back into his warm hand. When his lips followed his hands, she thought she might pass out from pleasure.

Blinded by pleasure, she knew nothing until his lips stopped moving. Somehow, they were under the blankets now, and he was lying on top of her, naked as she. Christine let her fingers travel into his still damp hair as he nuzzled her neck while his hands drifted lower. When his prodding fingers found their way to the apex between her legs, her eyes flew open and she let out a moan unlike any sound she had ever made. He gently suckled on her neck, letting his fingers slide into a place no man had ever touched her. Her cries of pleasure fueled his desire and he felt the sudden urge to taste her.

He moved from her neck and kissed his way down her flushed body—God, she was beautiful—making sure not to miss anything with his lips. He vaguely heard her make a sound as he drew his hands away from her and moved them to the backs of her knees, pulling her legs up and draping them over his shoulders.

"Erik, what are you—"

Any thoughts, any confusions, vanished from her mind the instant his lips made contact with her moist core. Never in her life had Christine felt anything like this. She felt as if heat was radiating from her body, as if there was no need for the fire in the grate. The fire inside her was enough to warm them both. She twined her fingers into Erik's hair again, gasping for breath as his tongue probed places she had not known could feel such exquisite pleasure. She screamed when he found the place that sent her over the edge with pleasure. She felt him insert two fingers into her, thrusting them in and out while his tongue worked above his hand. Her eyes grew wide as she felt her orgasm approaching, roaring through her body like fire.

Erik's name spilled out of her mouth over and over as her back arched up. She threw back her head, nearly sobbing from pleasure. She felt herself drifting for what seemed like an eternity. When she opened her eyes, she was staring up at Erik as he gently brushed her hair away from her face. He smiled down at her, and she reached for his hand.

"Are you alright?" His voice was softer and tenderer than she had ever heard it, and she clung to him as she nodded her head vigorously. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that night would be coming early—the storm was not letting up at all. She felt his arms wrap around her shoulders and his lips brush against her ear. "We don't have to do anything else if you don't want to, Christine," he said gently.

The thought that she could stop him at any time had never occurred to her. Thinking about it, Christine knew Erik had much more experience in the bedroom than she did. He was years older than her and had two daughters. Surely he had had more than two women in his life. She knew that she would be more than just a notch in his bedpost, but was still nervous. Up until now, she had been quite well behaved and… prudish.

She clung to him a bit more tightly, whispering, "I want to, I'm just scared."

His lips brushed against her forehead. "Of me?"

"No." How could she say this? "It's just…" She paused. "Will it… will it hurt?"

"A little, but only at first." He tilted up her chin and she could see the sincerity and love in his eyes. "We can wait if you'd rather."

She shook her head, rolling onto her back and taking him with her. "I'm tired of waiting," she whispered. "I've been waiting for you all my life. I love you."

Erik's lips crushed against hers. "I love you, too," he whispered. She felt him reach down between them, positioning himself at her entrance. At the contact, she exhaled sharply into his mouth. He gently disengaged himself from their kiss and pressed his forehead against hers. "It will only hurt a second," he murmured. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and gasped as he entered her swiftly. Tears sprung to her eyes—he had not lied when he said there would be some pain. Against her ear, Erik moaned. He placed kisses on her neck and all over his face—anything to keep himself from hammering into her over and over before she was ready.

Then he didn't have to wait anymore. Shifting a bit, Christine realized the pain was gone. "Erik," she moaned. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

Balancing his weight on his elbows, Erik began a rhythm that, although unknown to Christine, she was able to follow. Gently, Erik thrust against her as she adjusted to the feeling of something so large inside her. He was surprised and delighted when she pulled his earlobe into her mouth, nibbling gently and causing him to harden even more. She seemed to feel it—she let out a moan that topped anything he had heard from her so far.

"Oh, my God." Her back arched up and he felt her growing tighter around him. When she suddenly lapsed into a void of sound, Erik focused on her face. Her eyes had grown wide and she mouthed silently the words she could no longer speak. Erik increased the speed and power of his thrusts, hearing himself let out an animalistic growl.

Christine thought she had died and found heaven. The feeling of having Erik inside her, the feeling of not knowing where she ended and he began, was unlike anything she had ever felt. Tears sprung to her eyes as she felt her second release approaching. She knew that as long as she was alive she would never forget the feeling of Erik's lips whispering tender words of love against her ear as she came, or the feeling of him releasing inside of her. The sound that had left her came back in a rush as she let out a terrific moan before collapsing onto her back with Erik on top of her. After a minute or two, he rolled off of Christine and onto his side, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up to rest against his chest.

It was a long time before either of them moved after that. Christine thought she might have drifted off because when she opened her eyes again, the fire was much lower and the sky outside was completely black, save for the bursts of light brought about by the lightning catching on the raindrops.

She stirred. Erik looked down at her, a small smile playing across his lips. She smiled back, resting her chin on his chest as she said, "Hello."

He shifted a bit, leaning down to kiss her. "Do you think they'll have missed us yet?"

"They probably think we've run away together."

Erik kissed the tip of her nose this time. "We have."

"I don't want to go back." She snuggled deeper into the quilts and against Erik. "I want to stay here forever."

She felt his chest rumble as he laughed. "You'd get hungry."

"I'd have plenty to eat," she said, then blushed as she realized that she had actually said that.

They made love again—rougher this time—before they finally fell asleep, not realizing what would await them in the morning with the return of Raoul and Bellona.

_a/n What is this?? Foreshadowing?? WHAT THE HELL?! I don't usually do that, but whatever. I've decided this story is very fluffy and needs some drama. Huzzah! I had a wonderful idea and I'm going to use it. Please hold…_

_Also… IF YOU USE A MAC, PLEASE TOSS ME A BONE AND AN E-MAIL!!! Know how I haven't updated since September? I haven't been able to. Seriously. This chapter could have been broken up into two, but I couldn't update. The only reason this is updated is because I'm at home for Thanksgiving and on a PC. I don't know what I saved this file as, but it transferred to PC from Mac. Maybe I'll just do more work in the library, but that will slow me down even more. If you want updates and you're on a Mac, help me out. I'm a PC girl. Somebody help me—I'm clueless and sad. See my little sad face:(_

_Let me know what you think of these new developments. Later, bitches! _

_a/n 2 Yeah, you guys have GOT to be getting sick of these notes. Pay no attention to this if you use a PC, but if you use a Mac... I just hit ENTER about fifty times at the start of EVERY SINGLE NEW PARAGRAPH. Giant pain in the ass because of bad file translation. Please oh PLEASE help me! E-mail me and let me know what to do. Also, send your AIM and Yahoo! names if you have messenger. I'm not on often, but I'll log on if I know help is involved. Thanks bunches!_


	16. Chapter 15

_a/n As much as I love Andrew Lloyd Webber, he was SO wrong! I'm moving the original story (film version) back a year._

CHAPTER 15--UNTITLED

It was late before the rain stopped and Erik and Christine crept from their hideaway, giggling and making periodic stops for kisses and whispered sweet-nothings on the way back. They snuck up past the servants and into Erik's chambers, where they tumbled back into bed.

The rest of the night was spent taking in the intervals between making love. They talked about a great deal--everything from love to music to love of music. Christine went into a terrible fit of giggles when, in a fit of passionate explination, Erik stood on the bed, waving his arms to the orchestra of his mind while he sang, in bits and pieces, the final movement of Beethoven's Ninth. She laughed even harder when he scrunched up his face, holding out a long falsetto meant to be a suspended line in the soprano. She then treated him to what he called the first nude performance of "Voi che sapete" from The Marriage of Figaro. At his comment, Christine snorted.

"I don't want to think how many women have sung this nude," she said. "It was written by Mozart."

He slid his hands down her sides as she knelt back on the bed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she said with a smirk, "that women love men with musical talent. It's incredibally sensual to see a man sitting behind a piano, thinking so hard about what to write next. And besides--" She shoved him onto his back. "A woman talking about wanting to know what love is? To be on fire with desire?" She climbed on top of him, resting her hands against his chest as she sat, straddling him. "It speaks to her." She kissed him gently. "It speaks to me."

"Does it now?"

She nodded, then slid down to rest her cheek against her chest. She glanced toward the window, which was open. A cool, clean breeze billowed the curtains and she inhaled deeply. "It's June tomorrow."

Erik nodded. "So it is." He reached up, twirling one of her curls around his finger while he thought. He looked down at her face. Her eyelids were drooping and she was holding back very little of her weight. "Go to sleep, my love," he whispered against her hair.

The brown eyes closed and Erik smiled. She was out in less than a minute. He gave a small sigh. Tomorrow, Raoul and Bellona would return, as would Nadir, Raja, and Aimée. Their world would begin to return to normal and sooner or later, everyone would find out what had happened between the two of them. Erik didn't mind, though--he wanted the world to know that Christine was his. He wanted to shout out the window so that it reached the heart of Beauvais.

But his eyes closed, seemingly of their own accord, and the next thing he knew, someone was knocking on his door and a familiar voice was shouting, "I know you're in there! The maid said you didn't come down for breakfast." When he did not immediately respond. "Wake up, papa!" Next to him, Christine rolled onto her stomach for about half a minute before she pushed herself up onto her hands, focusing on the voice calling from the other side of the locked door.

Bellona.

As excited as Erik was to see her, he wasn't exactly ready--he was naked. Jumping from the bed, he reached for a pair of trousers and pulled them on. Christine looked around frantically, and Erik tossed her robe and nodded toward the bath. Christine nodded in reply and made to go get dressed, but not before Erik pulled her to him, kissing her deeply and nuzzling against her cheek breifly before moving to the door.

Bellona's skin was darker from the Greek sun, and she looked alarmingly like her mother as she stood in the doorway, peering up into his face. "What took you so long?"

"You woke me up."

"Since when do you sleep in?" she asked. She peered over his shoulder into the bedroom. Choosing to ignore the pair of womens' shoes on the floor, she looked back at her father, smiling. "Did you miss me?"

Instead of replying, Erik crushed her into his arms. She smiled. "Yes, I missed you, too, papa." When she pulled back, though, her face was not that of a radiant, newly married woman. Only then did he notice the worry lines in her forehead and the bags under her eyes. She smiled, grasping his arm a bit more tightly than she normally would. "Come sit with me?"

"May I dress first?"

Bellona rolled her eyes upward. "I was going to ignore Christine's shoes, too," she muttered, crossing herself as she headed back down the hall.

Erik followed her several minutes later, stepping into the parlor where Raoul was reclined on the divan. His head rested in Bell's lap, but he sat up when Erik entered. Seating himself in the chair across from them, Erik began to feel a bit nervous as Bellona clutched Raoul's hand.

"How was your trip?" he asked, attempting to be socialable.

"It was lovely." Bell smiled. "Greece was as wonderful as you promised it would be."

"Darling," Raoul said softly. Bell glanced at him before she started in with the bluntness she'd inherited from her father.

"We heard things on the way back," Bellona said softly. "Things in Paris." Her eyes locked onto his. "The police know you're not dead. We're not sure how they found out, but regardless, there's been a number of people demanding that they find you and bring you to justice. We met with Collette--they've already questioned her, and she told them she knew nothing. Still." She took a deep, shaky breath. "They know nothing but your first name, and they suspect you went to the country. Beauvais is on their list of towns to look. There aren't many masked men in town--you know that. It won't take them long to find you. Not everyone here knows of what went on in Paris--they probably won't think twice before giving directions to where to find you."

"As much as we don't like the idea,"Raoul said, "we think it would best for you to relocate temporarily until the warrent for your arrest is expired or until the government decides not to care anymore."

"Germany, then," Erik said softly, with little hesitation. "It's not so far--"

Bellona looked at him as if he were insane. "Papa, don't you read the news?"

Erik shook his head. "I've been very busy. Christine was ill and it was taking up a great deal of time."

Bell looked to Raoul, who straightened up a bit. "Things are getting worse over there," he said quietly. "They say it's only a matter of time before the Emperor declares war on Prussia. If you go to Germany, you'll be right in the middle of it."

"The last thing you want to be is a French lord on enemy ground," Bell added.

"I'm not political, and my title is held by Scottish law, not French," Erik said. "Why would it matter?"

"Because you were born French." Bell took her father's hands in hers. "Papa, I know it's far, but maybe you could go to America for a while. If you go to England, you're still at risk because it's so close, but no one knows about any of this in New York. Once all this is over, it's likely everyone will forget about you and the fact that you're still alive."

"How the hell am I supposed to get to New York?"

Raoul and Bellona exchanged a look. "There is a boat that leaves from la Havre and stops at Liverpool before going to New York," Raoul said.

Erik was quiet. New York was so very far away. He knew the girls would not come with him--he could hear it in his daughter's voice. Since he had found them, he had grown quite attached to his daughters. Even when they were in their home countries or in Italy, he had been able to jump on a train and come to see them. Now they would be a steamer's ride away. He knew, though, that Bellona was right. If war was indeed inevitable, going to Germany and his little flat in Berlin might not be a good idea. Anything in that direction was out of the question. He could go to Spain, but he despised that country, for the most part. England was, as his oldest had pointed out, too close for comfort, and was on too friendly of terms with France to truly be safe. America was the logical decision. He owned no property there. Almost no one knew him. He knew his father had a sister living there that he could stay with until France and Beauvais were safe again.

Bellona seemed to be reading his mind. "I've already sent a letter to Aunt Elaine and Uncle Marc. They know to expect you."

"I suppose you've booked me a one-way ticket out of here, as well?"

"Sort of." Bellona exchanged another look with Raoul. "I worried about you going alone, and I knew the police would ask quesitons if they found her here with us so..." She paused. "I booked one for Christine, as well."

Ah. So he would not be totally alone.

Heaving a sigh, Erik looked at his daughter. "When do we leave?"

"Thursday next." Bellona sighed. "We didn't hear of Christine's illness until after we had booked your passage. Had I known she'd been so ill I would have delayed your departure and put you on another boat, but--"

"No." Erik stood, running his hand across her dark hair. "This way is best."

"You sail on the Java in a little less than a week. You'd better start packing."

"I'd better explain the curcmustances, first."

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Erik was in the music room playing Beethoven's "Appassionata" when Christine found him two hours later. He did not hear her come in. He did, however, feel her hands on his shoulders as his hands eased across the keys. For the remainder of the work, neither of them spoke. When it was over, she leaned down, kissing his cheek.

"That was lovely." She smiled, cupping his cheek when he turned. "It's amazing Beethoven never married with all the beautiful music he wrote."

"Beethoven," Erik said, leaning back a bit, "was a cantankerous man who was going deaf at the age of twenty and contemplated suicide for a great deal of his life. He was simply too much to handle." He gave a small smile as he stared off distantly. "He did love, though."

"Ah, yes." Christine slid onto the bench next to him. "His 'Immortal Beloved.' The woman whose identity is a mystery."

Erik nodded. "Depressing, really." He slid an arm around her waist. "Poor man spent a great deal of time in the brothels. Never found the right woman, or his Beloved left him. Or died. No one really knows for sure." Gently, he whispered against her hair, "I can never lose you, my Beloved."

A small smile crossed Christine's face, but it vanished as she pulled back to look at him. He looked suddenly tired. She frowned slightly. "What is it?"

His eyes bored into hers. "I have to leave France," he said softly.

"Why?" she stammered. "Where? How--"

He gently placed his fingertips over her lips. Bidding her to silence for the moment, he relayed to her what had been told him by Raoul and Bellona. Her eyes widened as he spoke and her hand raised to cover her mouth.

"Erik," she whispered. Her voice seemed to catch in her throat. "Erik, I can't lose you." Tears streamed down her flawless cheeks as she clung to his shoulders. He rocked her gently, whispering words of love into her ear.

"You won't lose me, my love," he said gently. "My father has a sister in New York. She is expecting both of us at the end of the month."

Christine looked up, a small look of surprise etched across her face. "You have other family?"

Erik chuckled. "Yes, I have other family." He placed a gentle kiss against her forehead. "And, fortunately for you and I, Bellona and Raoul do not feel it is safe for you to stay here with them. They think the police would ask too many questions if they find you." Feeling her hand against his, he laced his fingers through hers. "You'll come with me to New York. We leave next Thursday."

There was silence for several minutes as the pair of them thought about the things to come, and those that had been. So much had happened so quickly. Erik's head spun as he tried to think about all of it at once. He was interrupted from his thoughts when he felt Christine rise from the bench, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

"We should pack."

Erik nodded. "Yes." He shook his head breifly to clear it. "Yes, we should."

_a/n I'm so sorry this is short! I just wanted to get up something to keep everybody reading. From now on, the plot should pick up a bit (it's been dragging a little) and I should have a little more time to write. I got dumped for New Year's, so I'm on my own again, and this is a good way for me to deal with my problems. Bear with me. Love you all--please review! Also, thanks a bunch to Mominator for helping me locate something so simple I should smack myself in the forehead. If I likned my computer to the actual homepage, I might have noticed it. Thanks so much, darling!_


	17. Chapter 16

_A/n A toast, dear friends, to good sex! In other words, M rated stuff ahead. Your reward for another long wait. This college crap's really time consuming, ya know? Thanks for sticking around. You're all my heroes._

CHAPTER 16--ARRIVALS

Looking out of the window of the room she had been sharing with Erik for the last few days, Christine realized exactly she was going to miss the country that had been her home since she had been so very young. She knew she couldn't stay, but that was beside the point. She had been too young to remember traveling with her father before he had become so ill. She hadn't left France since she had been orphaned and joined the ballet. Now she was going across the sea to live in a strange country with a language she didn't speak well in a house with people she had never met. Her only comforts at the moment were that Erik was with her and that she would be back in a year or two. Looking around, she sighed at the emptiness of the room. All of her and Erik's belongings had been packed or put inconspicuously into storage. They would be leaving very soon, and Erik was currently saying goodbye to his daughters and granddaughter. She knew that this was difficult for him, to leave his children behind and travel so far away.

The door behind her opened and Christine turned to see Raoul standing in the door. She forced a smile for her friend and went back to looking out the window. He crossed the room quietly and sat down next to her. When he saw the tears that were beginning to streak down her porcelain face, he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. She took it, forcing another smile, and dabbed at her face. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I just can't believe I'm leaving."

Raoul smiled gently at her. "You'll be home soon," he said softly. "Before you know it your time in New York will be over and you'll be back here as if nothing happened." When her tears didn't stop, he wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into him, crying softly, until there was another knock on the door. Christine pulled away from Raoul to see Erik standing with eyes narrowed suspiciously. She knew what he had to be thinking and she smiled at Raoul.

"I'll see you soon, then," she said brokenly.

He nodded and stood. "Don't forget to write," he said. "Goodbye, Christine." He crossed the room, surprising Christine and Erik when he stopped in front of Erik, holding out a hand. Slowly, Erik shook Raoul's hand, the look on his face changing to one of confusion. Raoul shook firmly, looking Erik straight in the eye as he promised to take good care of the girls while Erik was gone, and that he would help his wife to handle things if the police came to call.

Nodding, Erik released Raoul's hand, and said so softly that Christine wondered if she'd even heard it, "Their lives are in your hands. Take care of my girls."

Raoul nodded, and left, smiling one last time at Christine before he disappeared out the door. When he was gone, Erik moved to sit next to Christine. Taking her hand, he said gently, "It's time to go, darling."

She nodded, more tears streaking down her face as she stood. Slowly, she walked out the bedroom door, descending the stairs and stopping at the bottom. She felt Erik's hand on her shoulder. She looked at the little group that had gathered to bid them farewell. Raoul stood next to Bellona who held their daughter in her arms. Raja stood just in front of Nadir. They all looked so forlorn that Christine felt her tears begin to fall harder. She hugged everyone before she left, dropping a kiss on Aimee's forehead. The next thing she knew, she was in the carriage across from Erik. She tried to calm down, but she couldn't stop the tears. Erik moved to sit next to her and she nestled herself into his side. It wasn't long before she fell asleep.

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The trip to New York went easy enough. It was the boat that was Christine's undoing. For a week, she lay in bed next to Erik, praying that tomorrow would be the day the arrived in New York and she could feel solid land under her feet again. She'd never felt so sick in her life. When she had stepped off, she had had to take Erik's arm tightly as not to fall over. He had smiled and placed his hand on her back, asking if she was alright. She had merely shaken her head and allowed herself to lean against him as he had led her to a parked carriage, having already given an address to send the luggage to.

The ride to Erik's relatives' house was a long one, and Christine found herself sleeping most of the way. She awoke to the sound of Erik's voice telling her that they were here. Groggy, she took Erik's offered hand as she climbed from the carriage. The house behind him was enormous. For a moment, the pair of them stared up at it. The weren't alone long, though. The door opened and an elderly woman bustled out, holding out her arms and saying, "I was wondering when you would be here!" She folded Erik into her arms. He gave her a half-hearted hug in return. She pulled back a bit to peer up at Erik. "My goodness, you look so much like Charles!"

Had she been in good humor, Christine may have laughed at the look on his face. Instead, she braced herself for a hug. After introducing herself, the woman introduced herself as Aunt Elaine and led them inside for a tour.

As they were being shown the third room, Christine swayed against Erik, who looked down at her in alarm. "Darling? Are you alright?"

Aunt Elaine stopped her tirade long enough to turn and look at Christine. "Looks like a bit of land sickness to me," she said. "Why don't I show you your rooms and the pair of you can rest?"

She led them up the stairs and pointed to two doors, explaining briefly that the rooms were connected and that she would come find them for supper later. Erik nodded and managed a smile before leading Christine into the closest room. Opening the door with one hand and holding Christine around the waist with the other, he led her inside. Looking around, he saw exactly how much money his uncle had made over the years. The room was enormous, with a four-poster bed situated in the middle of the far wall. Carefully, Erik helped Christine onto the bed. He reached down and removed her shoes before unbuttoning the back of her dress and loosening her corset. She exhaled in relief as he pulled it off and he slid it down under her chemise. She smiled up at him and he traced her lips with a finger.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

She nodded slightly. "I'm just tired." Taking his hand, she pulled him down beside her and snuggled up to his shoulder. "You smell good," she mumbled.

Erik gave a small laugh. "Thank you, my love," he whispered against her hair. His lips trailed down her neck until they reached her collar bone. He looked up at her to see her head tilted back a bit and her eyes closed while her fingers tangled into his hair. He brushed his fingers across her scantily clad chest. "How tired are you?"

She didn't respond. Instead, she pulled him closer to her, her fingers moving to unbutton his shirt before she slid her hands under the material and running her fingernails over his skin. He moaned into her mouth as she shoved him onto his back, feeling himself become immediately aroused. They hadn't made love since they had left France. The train had offered them little room and the boat had made Christine so ill he'd been frightened to even touch her unless she asked. Now she was practically begging him. No longer tired, she was ripping his clothes off like a woman possessed, kissing every bit of skin she uncovered. Wanting to take control, Erik tried to roll her back over, but she shoved him back again with a strength he hadn't realized her to be capable of.

"No," she growled, pushing his arms into the pillows. Erik felt himself growing harder as she leaned over him, her pert breasts dangling in his face and her hair hanging down around her face. Reaching down, she pulled off her chemise and undergarments before sliding down his body until she reached his toned stomach. Looking up at him, she smirked as he gasped for breath. She placed a kiss to his stomach before moving lower and taking him into her mouth. Erik moaned loudly, tangling his fingers into her hair and pushing her onto him until he was buried to the hilt in her mouth. He felt more than heard the moan that came from her and it wasn't long before he had to pull her back up before he released into her mouth.

Straddling his hips, she smiled down at him before pressing a tender kiss to his lips and lowering herself onto him. Both of them moaned as she rocked back and forth, stimulating both of them. Erik gazed up at her out of hooded eyes as she moved, her head thrown back so that her curls tumbled down her back, reaching to her waist. Her hands moved to his thighs and he leaned up to capture her breast with his lips. As she cried out again, he felt her move faster. It wouldn't be long until he released into her and he leaned back again, moving his hand to the place where they were joined.

The result was almost instantaneous. He felt her walls clench around him as she came and he let himself go, his head slamming back against the pillows as his hips spasmed wildly beneath her. He called her name over and over until he felt there were no words but _Christine_. She was moaning and arching her back, her hair reaching down even farther. He tangled his fingers in the ends, keeping them there when she collapsed onto him.

They lay for awhile, still connected, while both of them worked to catch their breath. Once he could breathe again, Erik pressed his lips against her hair. "Are you alright, my love?"

She nodded, pressing her lips against his chest. "I love you," she murmured. Her eyes closed and she smiled slightly. "Now I'm tired."

Erik smiled. "Go to sleep," he whispered. "I love you."

She nodded and snuggled up to him. When she was asleep, he carefully climbed out of bed and dressed quietly before creeping out of the room and going in search of his aunt.

Once downstairs, she was not hard to find. He could hear her chattering away to the maid about furniture. She was in the dining room when he reached the bottom of the stairs, and he stepped inside, forcing a smile onto his face. Elaine smiled brightly when she saw him.

"Oh, Amy, these can wait until later," she said, waving her hands. "I think the library could use a bit of dusting. Would it be too much trouble to have dinner on by six?"

"No, ma'am." Amy smiled, bobbing down in a small curtsy, before she disappeared out the door.

Elaine smiled even more as she trotted over to him, reaching up to straighten his mussed hair. There was a twinkle in her eyes as she said, "I take it your young lady will be asleep until dinner?" She laughed brightly as Erik blushed. "You're so like your father," she said merrily. "You look just like him when you're embarrassed." She held out a hand to the table. "Won't you have a seat?"

Slowly, Erik crossed the room and sat down opposite her. She smiled back at him, reaching over to take his hands. He forced himself to avoid his usual tendancies by pulling back and allowed her to study his face. He was growing very uncomfortable when she said quietly, "I don't see a bit of your mother in your eyes."

Though her voice was soft, Erik could hear venom in it. Her eyes, green like his, were very bright and she did not look away from him as she continued. "I don't know how you feel about her. I, however..." Elaine trailed off, her eyes moving to the window. "She was an evil woman. We left France when Charles died—we didn't find out she was with child until we were settled in and you had already been born. Had I known, I would have made your uncle stay. Madeline was a horrible woman—I knew she would make a bad mother." She clutched his hands a bit tighter. "How long was it until you left?"

"I was ten," he said softly. "She was beginning to go crazy—I was driving her crazy. She couldn't handle having a monster for a son," he added bitterly.

Elaine shook her head. "You are no monster, Erik," she said firmly. "Had your father lived, your life would have been very different. Charles was raised well—our father put little stock into looks. He believed that what mattered was the inside."

"They why did he marry my mother?"

"When Madeline was around your father, she was seldom the bitch we all knew she could be. She loved your father—don't misunderstand me. She just put on an act so that he would love her, as well." Elaine shook her head again. "Had he lived, he would have seen the true Madeline, for whom everything had to be perfect. A dish out of place in Madeline's perfect china cabinet could lead to the firing of a servant. The only time she and Charles ever fought was when something was out of place. Charles was such a child, in some ways." A new light appeared in Elaine's eyes as she remembered back to a different time. "He would romp in the snow with the village children—some of the same ones who would tease you, likely—and come into the house leaving snow in the entrance way. Madeline would throw a fit, telling him that he cared nothing for the work she put into the house and how everything had to be perfect. The one time he argued in front of us I remember him saying that not everything was beautiful, nor did it have to be. I'll never forget what she said." Elaine's eyes became hard and her voice bitter. "She said, 'If something is not beautiful in my house then it will be thrown into the cold,' and Charles asked what would happen if they had an ugly child. She said she would toss it out with the trash. Charles threatened her—said if she ever did such, he would leave her without a penny." She gave a hollow laugh. "You can imagine my amazement that you were the one who left and that you were not thrown out, even though Madeline had her money."

Erik glanced down at her hands, which still clutched his tightly in her own. "I want to thank you," he said quietly, "for taking me in. I'm not sure how much Bellona told you about what happened in Paris—"

"She told me enough."Elaine smiled again, more sincerely and lovingly. "You're still just a child to me. That and a child needs a mother's love—a _woman's_ love." She pulled one hand away and wiped at her eyes. "I promised to keep composed."

Erik did not have time to answer her before the front door opened and a voice called out, "Are they here yet?"

An instant later, a man who had to be Uncle Marc entered the room. Erik liked what he saw, even though he wasn't sure why. Marc was not the most attractive man he had met, but there was an air of confidence around him Erik was unfamiliar with. He was on the portly side. He had rosy cheeks and a boyish gleam in his eyes, which crinkled up when he smiled at his wife.

"Hello darling," he said cheerfully, kissing Elaine on the cheek. Turning, he smiled at Erik. "This strapping young man must be our nephew." Reaching out, he clasped Erik's hand. "Wonderful to meet you, son," he said, "just wonderful." He pumped Erik's hand hard, smiling broadly all the while. "You know, you look remarkably like your father." He turned his smiling face to his wife. "Doesn't he look like Charles?"

Elaine smiled back. "That's what I said."

"You didn't travel alone, did you?" he asked Erik. "Your daughter said you'd be bringing a lady friend."

"She's resting just now," Erik said, feeling his face flush a bit. "She's tired from the trip."

"Ah, but we'll meet her at dinner." Marc glanced around. "When is dinner?"

"At six," Elaine said. "It's five now, so I say we all sit down for a cup of tea before dinner."

At that moment, there was the sound of footsteps in the hallway and a still-tired looking Christine came around the corner. She smiled. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I just can't seem to get enough sleep lately."

Elaine's eyes twinkled. "That's quite alright, dear." Taking Christine's hand, she said, "This is my husband, Marc." Turning, she said, "Marc, this is Christine."

Christine smiled prettily for Marc. "Thank you for taking us in," she said softly. "It means so much to all of us."

Marc took her hand in his, kissing her fingers gallantly and said, "My dear, it is my pleasure." Gesturing, he said, "How about that tea?"

Five minutes later, they were settled in the parlor and tea was set in front of them. Erik poured tea for Christine, adding her usual lemon and lump of sugar. The group of them had chatted for several minutes about the trip and what Erik planned to do with his time in America before Elaine suddenly said, "What's the matter, dear?"

Christine was staring down at her tea with an odd look on her face. She put the cup on the table and stared at it, apparently bewildered, before she said, "It just doesn't taste right."

Erik leaned over and took a sip of her tea. "It tastes the same as always."

"No it doesn't," she said stubbornly. "It's like the sugar's gone rancid."

Erik rolled his eyes. "You're only picky."

"I am not!" She frowned down at the tea before trying another sip. Resolutely, she set it back on its saucer, saying, "I don't like it. I just don't want tea right now." She gave her head a small shake. "I'm sorry, Elaine." She rubbed her temples, adding, "I'm just too tired to enjoy it, I suppose."

That twinkle was back in Elaine's eyes. "Certainly, dear, I understand perfectly." Glancing up at the mantle, she seemed to suddenly remember something. "Erik, did your mother ever tell you about John?"

Erik frowned. "Who?"

"I don't suppose she would have." It was the first time Erik saw his uncle frown. "Probably didn't want him to feel like there was any hope of ever—"

Elaine cut him off, saying, "John is our son. I suppose he's a few years younger than you—he and his wife are coming for dinner. They should be here soon." She shook her head. "I swear, some days I don't know where my mind goes."

Right on cue, there was the sound of the bell at the front door. A minute later, a man and a woman entered the room. There was a small whirlwind as introductions were made, hugs were exchanged between all the women, the men shaking hands, and the announcement of dinner was made.

Dinner was a cheerful affair. John was a successful architect in the city, and was happy to find that his newfound cousin shared his interest in the field. His wife, Katie, was a cheery socialite who had come to America from Stockholm with her family, which was a delight to Christine. However, Erik noticed that Christine, as happy as she seemed, still seemed dreadfully tired and that she had hardly touched her plate. He felt terrible that she was so exhausted from the trip, but was still glad that she was at his side.

By the time the evening was over, Katie had promised to visit daily to keep Christine company when Erik started his new job at John's firm. Elaine was flapping her hands about, nearly in tears with her excitement. Marc kept telling her to calm down but smiled broadly and did nothing to stem her excitement.

Once they were gone, Elaine insisted that Christine go to bed. She looked ready to fall asleep on her feet, and Erik found himself a bit sleepy, as well. Bidding his aunt and uncle goodnight, he wrapped an arm around Christine's waist and led her upstairs. Even though he had his own room, he still climbed in next to her. She was asleep before he had even had time to undress, and he smiled in vague amusement as she snored softly. He pulled her close and she made a soft sound as she snuggled up to his side. Resting his chin on her head, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, content in his new home.

_a/n Sorry it's been so long. I was going to update during spring break, but I forgot to get the file off of my computer before going home (it was a really long, really bad day). Additionally, I've not been feeling well for the last couple of weeks—some odd strain of food poisoning. Anyway, I'll try to update more. Let me know what you think._


	18. Chapter 17

_a/n Sorry about the long wait. It's been a rough couple of weeks and I have exams and special juries coming up, along with a diction teacher switch (mid semester, mid class, and just after beginning French) and trying to find a job for the summer. Forgive me--you know I love you._

**CHAPTER 17—UN PÉRE**

Erik filled out his last bit of paperwork before stacking the contract on top of the others and putting them at the center of his desk. Making sure his door was closed, he removed his mask, rubbing his hands across his face. It was his third week working for John, and aside from being more tired than he had been in years, he so far loved his new job. After showing his cousin exactly what he could do, John had given him an office and several clients.

Christine had begun to joke that he was becoming domesticated. He woke in the morning, dressed, ate breakfast, kissed her goodbye, worked all day, and came home for dinner, before going to sleep with Christine. They had made love almost every night after arriving, but lately she had been too tired. Erik was content, however, just to sleep next to her at night, curled around her from behind. He had a suspicion that his aunt knew that Christine never slept in her own bed, but she never said anything. She was turning out to be quite an interesting woman where propriety was concerned.

For her part, Christine seemed content to stay home all day, kept company by Katie and Elaine, both of whom she got along with wonderfully. Katie was older by Christine by several years, but it hardly seemed to matter. They did counterpoint and knitted between conversations and walks, and when Katie was not there, she was usually curled up in the library, pretending to be reading when she was really napping. Napping had become another pastime for Christine as of late. No matter how long she slept the night before, she was always tired. She had dozed off in the middle of dinner one night and lately was usually just waking up when Erik came home from work.

Standing, Erik stretched his arms to clear his head before replacing his mask and picking up the papers. He took his hat and coat from their hook by the door and locked it behind him as he exited. John glanced out of his own office, calling Erik's name.

"Did you get those contracts done?" he asked.

Erik held up the stack. "Right here," he said. "I'm going home. You should get out of here before your wife thinks you've left her."

John laughed, waving Erik away. "I'll be gone soon, don't worry."

Outside, his aunt's carriage waited just like it did every day, and he climbed in, getting comfortable before leaning his head against the back of the seat. He didn't realized how tired he was until he realized that he must have dozed off. The next thing he knew, the door was open and he was blinking himself awake before climbing down and going inside. He was still trying to wake up as he handed his coat and hat to Amy, who was waiting inside the door. She smiled forcedly when he nodded at her, which he found a bit odd—usually, she was so cheerful.

He glanced around at the silent house before asking, "Where is Christine?"

Instantly, Amy's smile dropped and a worried look crossed her face. "I think she's in her room, sir."

Erik frowned. "What's wrong?"

Amy wrung her hands. "It's not my place, sir," she said nervously. "I didn't even mean to hear, I was just changing the linens on her bed and I heard her..."

Stepping a bit closer to Amy, who backed away a bit, he said, "You heard her what?"

"She's very ill, sir," Amy said softly. "She asked me not to tell you, but that was a week ago and she's been sick ever since."

Erik didn't say another word to Amy—he raced up the stairs and into Christine's room. Looking about frantically, he panicked when she was nowhere to be seen. He was about to head to his room when he heard coughing coming from the bathroom followed by vomiting. Two strides were all it took for him to cross the room and throw open the door.

Never had he been so scared as when he saw Christine bent over the toilet emptying the contents of her stomach. Tears streamed down her face as she sat back on her heels and as he stepped inside, she looked up at him. She looked so helpless that he was lost for words as she began to cry in earnest. Kneeling down next to her, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her temple and pulling her into his lap.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she choked. "I didn't want to tell you because I thought it would go away, but it isn't going away."

"Has it gotten any worse?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "No." She clung to his vest and he pulled her a bit closer. "But it's not going away, no matter what I do." Her sobs doubled as she pulled away from him, choking as she began to dry heave. Resting her head on her arm, she cried until Erik was quite sure she would hyperventilate herself. Picking her up, he shushed her as he carried her to bed, lying her down and covering her up with the soft blankets. He was sitting next to her rubbing her hand when there was a soft knock on the door. Amy poked her head in, saying softly, "Your aunt is downstairs—she wants to talk to you."

Erik placed a gentle kiss on Christine's forehead. "Will you be alright alone for a few minutes?"

She nodded. "I'm feeling better—I'm just tired."

He smiled. "I'll be right back." Sanding, he walked out of the room, quietly shutting the door before he followed Amy downstairs. His aunt was sitting in the parlor looking out of the window, an indecipherable look on her face. Instantly, he was afraid his welcome had been worn out, but as soon as he entered, she held out her arms.

"Amy said she was sick," Elaine said soothingly. "I'm so sorry, darling, I had no idea. I sent for the doctor, of course—he should be here within the hour." She wrung her hands together, looking, of all things, a bit guilty. "I hope it's nothing serious. I hardly noticed that she was even gone—she's so quiet, you know. She'll sit in the library and read for hours—I just assumed that's where she was." Elaine blew out a lungful of air. "I'm sure she's fine."

"How can she be fine?" he asked desperately. "She's been sick every day, Amy said."

"I'm sure, dear," Elaine said, sounding a bit more confident than before. "I've been in her shoes before, and I came out just fine." She gestured to the chair across from her, smiling. "Sit. I've had Amy make some tea."

He shook his head. "I'd rather sit with Christine, thank you. You'll tell me when the doctor arrives?"

Elaine nodded, and Erik walked back upstairs. When he entered the room, he was only slightly surprised to find that she hadn't moved in the time he'd been gone. Her chocolate eyes opened when the door closed behind him, and she reached out sleepily, holding out her hand for him to take. He sat down next to her, lacing his fingers through hers and kissing them tenderly. "How do you feel?"

"It's odd," she said softly. "I feel fine—I feel tired, but fine." She smiled. "I love you."

A smile crossed his face, something he was becoming more and more used to. "I love you, too." He slid down to rest next to her. "Elaine sent for a doctor."

Christine frowned. "But I feel fine."

"I know, darling," he said gently, "but I think it would be best if you let him just ask you a few questions and examine—"

"I don't want to!" She rolled away, curling onto her side.

Erik sighed. He knew she didn't like doctors—her first experience with one had ended in the death of her father. Still, though, he knew that she knew that sometimes doctors were a necessary evil. This was not a Christine he was used to seeing. He rested a hand on her back, and was a bit surprised when she pulled away. She did not pull away quickly enough, however, for him not to feel her shaking. She was crying.

Gently, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her tense body closer to his. Resting his lips against her hair, he murmured, "What's that matter? It's just the doctor—he's going to make sure you're healthy."

"But what if I'm not?" she asked. "What if I picked something up on the boat and they take me away?"

He pulled her a bit closer, and she relaxed a bit so that he could form his body up to hers. "No one will ever take you away from me," he whispered. "I wouldn't let them."

They lay quietly for a long time, his arms wrapped around her from behind while she clung desperately to them. Hearing the door open downstairs, he let go, rolling her onto her back and brushing the hair back from her flushed face.

"I'll be back in just a moment, my love," he said softly. "Will you be alright?"

She nodded, pulling him down and pressing her lips to his. For a moment, he gave in, kissing her back and letting himself slip for a moment before he pulled away. Her pout told him that she would be fine, and he smiled as he stood up. She gave him a sleepy smile in return and he closed the door behind him.

All the way downstairs, the only thing he could think of was seeing Christine so sick with tears running down her face. He shuddered at the thought of her picking something up on the crossing from England. She had been ill, then, too, but the ship doctor had attributed it to sea sickness. When they'd come back, she'd been tired, and now she was getting sick again. He shook his head to clear it before stepping off the stairs at the bottom. He felt his stomach flip as he saw his aunt with a man who was obviously the doctor. They turned and his aunt smiled.

"Erik, this is Doctor Andrews. Doctor Andrews—" She squeezed Erik's hand comfortingly. "This is my nephew, Erik." She gestured to the stairs. "Shall we?"

Erik led the way up the stairs, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Elaine seemed to have noticed, and she took a few extra steps to get ahead of him, knocking gently on the door before she opened it and peered inside.

"May we come in, dear?"

He couldn't hear Christine's reply, but he figured it must have been an affirmative, as Elaine led them inside. The doctor set his bag and coat on the chair before crossing to the bed and smiling down at Christine. "Would you mind if I sat?"

She shook her head, and the old man sat down on the edge of the bed. Reaching down, he rested his fingers on her wrist while he pulled out a pocket watch. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked.

Christine opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then, for seemingly no reason, burst into tears. Erik was across the room in a second, sitting on the other side of the bed and holding her other hand. She rolled away from the doctor, burying her face in Erik's thigh. He ran a hand across her hair, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Christine." She shuddered, moving a bit closer. "Darling, you must calm down—the doctor needs to examine you." She sobbed harder, and he sat her up, wrapping his arms around her. "Please, my love," he said softly, his voice pleading a bit. "Please don't cry—you know I hate it when you cry."

"What if I die?" she sobbed. "I don't want to die. Don't let me die, Erik."

"You're not going to die," he said gently. "You're not allowed to die before me—I need you to live longer than me. I need you here for the rest of my life."

She pulled away from his chest to look at him. Her brown irises were surrounded by red and her eyes were swollen, but she still looked beautiful to him. "Do you promise?" she asked.

He nodded, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I swear."

Christine took a deep, shaky breath and let it out in a rush before she lay back down, her hand clutching Erik's as the doctor resumed examining her.

"How long have you been feeling unwell, my dear?" the doctor asked.

She thought for a minute before saying, "I've been sick all week and tired since we got here."

He nodded, smiling kindly. "How long ago was that?"

"About a month."

Dr. Andrews appeared to think for a moment, his brow crinkling a bit as he removed a stethoscope from his bag. "Would you sit up for me, dear?" He listened to her breathing for a moment before asking, "Would you mind if I felt your belly?"

She shook her head, leaning back against the bed at his instruction. The doctor's hands squeezed her waist gently a bit, then traveled to her front, pressing on her abdomen. "You said you've been vomiting?"

She nodded, clutching Erik's hand a bit tighter. He squeezed back and raised it up to his lips, kissing her fingers gently. She seemed to relax a bit and she managed to give him a small smile. The doctor continued to feel around for another minute or so before leaning down to whisper something in her ear. She blushed and nodded, glancing fleetingly at Erik before looking away. The doctor whispered something else and she nodded again. He straightened up.

"I need examine her privately," he said. "I'll need you both to step outside for a few minutes."

Erik's eyes flashed. "Whatever you need to 'examine,'" he sneered, "you can do it with me in here. You—"

"Erik." Her voice was soft. "Please? It's just for a minute." When he did not answer, she gave him a small smile. "I promise to scream if he does anything he shouldn't." She winked.

He sighed heavily, thinking about how soft he had become, standing up and kissing her cheek. He glared at the doctor. "If you take more than ten minutes, I'm coming in."

Doctor Andrews smiled. "I'll be as quick as I can."

When Erik and Elaine were in the hallway, he passed a nervous hand over his face. His aunt took his hand again and he stayed close to her as they stood in the hall.

"I'm sure she's just fine," Elaine said encouragingly. "She seems to be a very healthy girl."

"She always has been," he said quietly.

"How long have you known her?"

"Since she was very young," he said, allowing himself to become distracted by the small talk. "I was her teacher when she was younger." He smiled wryly. "My feelings toward her were much more platonic back then."

"I can see they have changed." Elaine smiled. "You know, you could have told me when you arrived that you would be sharing a room. I would have had it more appropriately set up."

"Appropriate?" Erik stared at her. "Never mind the same bed—wouldn't being appropriate be to reprimand me for sleeping in the same room as a woman?"

Eyebrows raised, Elaine said, "Do you love her?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then what does it matter what society thinks?" Elaine rolled her eyes, looking decades younger. "I've never been a fan of the opinions of society. That's why we don't live in the middle of town."

"I suppose it's genetic, then." Erik shifted. "Was that how my father was?"

"Oh, yes," she said, laughing. "Charles could have cared less what people thought of him as long as no one lied about him. If there was an untrue rumor about Charles, he confronted whoever started and set the record straight. He was notorious for it."

The door to the bedroom opened and the doctor exited. He smiled at the pair of them. "I'll be taking my leave, then," he said. "Erik, it was a pleasure to meet you. Elaine, a delight, as always. Tell Marc I said hello, won't you?"

Erik held up a hand, halting the doctor's progress. "What it the diagnosis, then?"

"She's perfectly healthy," Dr. Andrews said. "Other than that, it up to her to tell you."

"But she's been ill!" Erik ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "How can you say she's perfectly healthy?"

Dr. Andrews merely smiled. "Elaine, would you mind seeing me to the door? I always seem to get lost in your house." Then they were gone. Erik stood alone in the hall for a moment before turning slowly and walking back into the bedroom.

She wasn't in bed anymore—she had moved to the window seat. She was staring out, the setting sun making her face more radiant than he had ever seen it. She didn't look sick, or tired, or even scared. There was an almost thoughtful look on her face, and she turned to watch him as he walked in. She didn't say anything as he crossed to sit at the other end of the seat. He lifted her feet to make room for himself then rested them on his lap once he was settled. She smiled at him for a long moment before leaning forward to sit in his lap.

"I love you." Her lips pressed up against his in a tender kiss. A bit confused, he kissed her back and for several minutes there was nothing but them as he held her close. When she pulled away from him, she pressed her hand against the good side of his face for a second before removing his mask. Instinct kicked in and he turned away, but she put her hand under his chin, pulling him to face her, and she cupped his face in her hands. She studied him for a minute before saying again, "I love you, Erik."

He frowned. "What did the doctor say?"

Christine smiled brightly. "I want to cook you dinner!" She stood up, reaching down and pulling off her stockings. "I want to cook you dinner barefoot—what are you hungry for?"

Erik did not move. "You can't cook dinner," he said slowly. "You need to rest."

She laughed. "Of course I can cook dinner. I can, and I _will,_ and you aren't going to argue with me." She rested a hand on her stomach, staring out of the window. "Or we could go out. We could go out to celebrate."

"Celebrate what? Christine, what in hell are you on about?" He was trying not to shout, but he couldn't help the raise in volume and pitch his voice was taking on. "What did the doctor say?"

"You should get changed," she said. "You can't go out like that. Hurry up!" She headed for the closet, but paused before going in. She smiled lovingly at him, saying, "It's good you get to be here for this. I know you feel you missed out when Raja and Bellona were born, but now you'll get to see the whole thing, vomiting and all!" Turning, she left Erik sitting frozen on the window seat trying to figure out exactly what she was trying to tell him.

It hit him as he was halfway stood up, and he rose the rest of the way up very slowly. "Darling?"

Christine's head poked out of the closet. "Yes?"

"What exactly did the doctor say?"

She smiled brightly. "What do you think he said?" Her eyes were bright and her hand was resting on her belly again as he slowly walked across the room toward her. He reached out to her and she slid into his arms, propping her chin on his chest to look up at him. "You really should start marrying the women you impregnate."

He smiled. "I really should."

"Will you think about it?"

"No." He kissed her and added, "I don't need to." Then they were both laughing as he spun her in circles and she kissed him again when he stopped, and he swore never to let her go.

_a/n It's not quite done—I'd say another couple of chapters before it's finished. Stick around. I have to update my other story first, but then this. I'm alternating. My planning is getting better._


	19. Chapter 18

_a/n Busy, busy, busy..._

**CHAPTER 18—WONDERFUL**

Christine took a deep breath and let it out, a smile crossing her face as her nose tingled with scents of pine and cinnamon. Opening her eyes, she watched as Katie put the star on the top of the Christmas tree before carefully climbing down the ladder. She smiled at Christine, who was relaxing in the wing back chair in the opposite corner. "What do you think?"

"I think the men are going to be amazed that you managed to move that ladder by yourself," Christine said with a wry smile. Now into her sixth month of pregnancy, the entire family had come to gang up on her any time she tried to lift anything more than a dish. Erik, in particular, had become very overprotective, constantly two steps behind her and always underfoot. With her shortening temper, she wasn't always willing to have him stalking her about the house and had yelled at him more than once. Immediately, he would jump backward, apologize, and disappear for an hour or so before, like a child creeping out of their room after being scolded, appear peeking around corners before she would offer him a hug and he would apologize again.

Today, he was at work and the house was relatively quiet. Christmas was two weeks away, and Katie and Elaine had decided it was time to decorate and begin readying the house for the small Christmas party they would hold for a few close friends and coworkers. Christine did as much as she was allowed, helping judge how even the tinsel and garland looked, hanging ornaments, and hanging stockings. Now, she sat in her chair staring down at her belly with her mind on only one thing.

"I'm starving." Getting slowly to her feet, she said, "I'm going to see what Elaine is making." Making her way to the kitchen, she sniffed the air hopefully, still smelling baking but hoping for something a little saltier.

"There you are!" Elaine was rearranging gingersnaps on a plate, and she paused to smile at Christine. "I hope you're hungry!"

Christine's face lit up as Elaine took a plate from the counter. Two ham sandwiches were cut into triangles and set in a circle around a small handfull of olives. Perching herself on a stool, Christine immediately popped several olives into her mouth before inhaling the first sandwich. She slowed down on the second, not noticing the small smile on Elaine's face as she watched Christine devour her meal.

"You _were_ hungry," Elaine said, ammused by the speed at which Christine inhaled her food. "Do you need another sandwich?"

Christine shook her head, but asked, "Are there any more olives?"

Elaine laughed. "I sensed you'd have the taste for something salty." She pulled a jar from the counter, handing it to Christine. "I have two more jars, so eat what you want."

Christine ate several more while she watched Elaine pile more cookies onto a plate before she asked, "How many people are coming next week?"

"Oh, probably around forty." She smiled at Christine. "Why?"

"Nothing."

Christine hadn't said anything to anyone, but the fact that she was unmarried troubled her. She assumed Erik wanted to get married at some point, but he seemed to be in no rush. She suspected that he wanted to wait until they were back in France with his family near, but he had family here, too. She did not want to tell him that part of her was ashamed of herself for not being able to wait until she was married. Still, there was that part of her that was still in disbelief that she was carrying the child of the man she loved more than life itself.

Rubbing her hand across her belly, she smiled as she felt kicking against her palm. She rested her hand over where it was strongest and closed her eyes, feeling a connection with her child unlike anything she had ever felt with anyone.

When her eyes opened, Elaine was smiling at her. "Come along, dear," she said, smiling. "Let's go have a look at the living room, shall we?"

Katie had managed to make the room even lovlier in the short time Christine had been gone. A small stone nativity scene had been set up under the tree and more candles had been lit. The tree was lovely, and Christine smiled at the tree as she held Katie's hand.

"It's beautiful," Elaine said happily. "Now if only those men would get home."

As if they had been listening, waiting for her to say those words, the front door opened and voices sounded in the hall. Katie and Elaine rushed into the hall, but Christine sat down, feeling tired. She closed her eyes and listened to them all talking in the hall. A moment later, she heard soft footsteps and lips press against hers as Erik pulled her close to him. She smiled against his lips, kissing him back and wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulled away after several minutes and she opened her eyes to see him staring down at her with concern. She smiled. "I'm fine, only tired."

He smiled back, sitting down next to her. Taking her hands, he raised them to his lips, asking, "How was your day?"

"We decorated." She nodded at the tree. "Do you like it? I put some of the ornaments on—they wouldn't let me do anything else."

A laugh escaped Erik's lips and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's lovely." He pressed his lips to the side of her head and she leaned into him a bit more. "You look lovely." His lips slid down to her neck and his hands began to wander a bit.

Christine giggled. "Don't do that!" She swatted him away. "Anyone could come in."

"They'd get an eyefull." He heaved a sigh and got to his feet. "When is dinner?"

"Whenever Elaine says it is." She smiled. "I already ate. I couldn't wait." Standing, she pulled him down for a small kiss. "We were hungry."

He laughed. "With that appetite, it has to be a boy."

"What if it's a girl?"

"Then she'll be as lovely as her mother." Gently, Erik cupped her cheek in her hand and she leaned into his touch. His eyes were bright as he said softly, "I love you."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him as close as her growing belly would allow, and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt his arms around her back and they stayed that way for a while before he pulled back slightly, laughing. She peered up at him inquisitively until he knelt down, pressing his ear to her stomach.

"What do you have to say that's so important?" He appeared to be concentrating, then he said. "Ah. Yes, I think so, too... Yes, the tree looks wonderful. What's that? Yes, I understand. Of course. I'll be sure to let her know." Looking up at Christine's smiling face, he said, "The baby wants you to know that there should be more presents under the tree, but other than that, it's perfect." Christine laughed, running her fingers through his dark hair as he pressed a gentle kiss to her belly. Getting to his feet, he kissed her cheek before wrapping an arm around her waist. "Let's go see what Elaine is cooking up for dinner."

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It was late before Erik went to bed that night. After dinner, he had retired to the music room to write and had been in a fever of inspiration ever since. Before he realized it, it was one in the morning and he remembered that Christine had promised to wait up for him. Shuffling his papers hurriedly, he went across the house, up another staircase, and down a hall before reaching their room.

Chrisitne was asleep on her side, the candle on the bedside table burning low but illuminating her enough that he could see that she had a book in her hand. Obviously, she had fallen asleep waiting for him. He removed his shoes and took off his already loose cravat, tossing it onto a chair before moving to stand beside the bed.

She still wore her dressing gown. Curled onto her side, one hand still held her book but the other was wrapped protectively around her belly. Her chest rose and fell gently, the locks of hair that were closest to her face fluttering very slightly every time she exhaled. Her hair was slightly mussed from sleep already and her face was serene as she slept.

Quietly, so as not to wake her, Erik undressed, not bothering to put on clothes for sleep, and climbed under the covers. Gently, he removed the book from under her hand. She stirred slightly, her dark eyes opening to stare sleepily up at him. He smiled as he brushed back her hair, pressing a loving kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry I'm so late."

Christine shifted slightly, stretching a bit and smiling tiredly. "It's alright." She rolled onto her side away from him, blowing out the candle and pulling his arm toward her, resting their joined hands on her bosom as he spooned against her. He burried his face in her fragrant hair, breathing deeply, the scent of jasmine filling his nostrils from the soap she used in her curls. He pushed her hair aside with his free hand, his lips wandering to her neck as he begn to finish what he had started in the living room that evening...

Hours later, their needs for the other momentarily satiated, Erik and Christine lay in blissful silence, curled together, hands resting on the place where the evidence of their love grew bigger and stronger every day.

"Kiera," she said softly. "Or Natalie."

"What?"

"For the baby." She smiled, knowing that he would go for neither of these, but wanting to see what he thought—what he would say.

He frowned slightly. "I like Brigitte. Or Nikoleta." He kissed her neck, resting his head on her bosom. "I want Charles if it's a boy."

He didn't elaborate, but Chrisitne knew it was for his father. She rested her chin on the top of his head. She'd had hardly any time with her father—he'd been taken away from her at such a young age—but Erik had never even met his father. She doubted he knew anything about him other than what Elaine had told him. He'd mentioned once that his mother never once mentioned his father, save for one time, when she had breifly mentioned him being his father's son.

Christine decided that she liked Nikoleta. She told him so, and she felt him smile against her skin. He mumbled words of love against her and she threaded her fingers through his hair, whispering that she loved him too. She would never forget the words he said next as long as she lived. It was so soft she hardly heard it, yet it rang out as clear as a bell in the silence of the bedroom.

"When I marry you, I want there to be rose blossoms in your hair."

Tears filled her eyes and her throat was suddenly so tight she could hardly reply. "I will marry you with rose blossoms in my hair," she whispered, closing her eyes tightly against the tears that were streaming down her face.

She felt his face shift and knew he was looking at her. "And I want to marry you with our child in your arms." He moved up to hold her and she curled into his chest. "I want to marry you in the spring under that willow tree in the back with everyone there. We'll have Bell and Raja and Nadir and Raoul and Aimee all there—Elaine and Marc. And John and Katie. Everyone. I want everyone to see us taking vows that we'll never part."

Nothing could stop her crying now. She opened her eyes and almost had to shut them again. His face was so tender—she had never seen him like he was just then. A small smile played across his lips and his eyes were bright with hope and love. He cupped her cheek in his hand, pressing his lips against her forehead and pulling her close while she cried into his chest.

He pressed his lips against her hair, now. "No tears, my love."

"Then stop being so wonderful." She choked out a laugh and smiled as he pulled her a bit closer. She pressed her wet cheek against his broad chest, her fingers toying with the hair there.

It was a hours later before either of them spoke again.

_a/n Short chapter, I know, but this is starting to wrap itself up. Another chapter or two and the traditional epilogue and it'll be done. May I say in advance, it's been fun to write fluff and it's gotten me through a lot of stuff. To imagine that somewhere, even if it's in the back of my mind and a figment of my imagination, somebody can be so happy, does more for me than I hope any of you realize._


	20. Chapter 19

_a/n I'm going to take a shot in hell and say __Aimée__'s about eleven months at this point. And now, in the words of Dane Cook... Fuck shoes._

**CHAPTER 19—SOMETHING TO DO**

The house was very quiet, except for the rain that was hammering on the roof. A late February rainstorm was, in Bellona's opinion, the reason France was the worst place to be this time of year. Italy, dear Italy, would be lovely and cool right now. Not freezing and wet. Raoul had called it British weather, something Bellona knew nothing about. Glancing away from the window, she tried to find something to do. Instead, she smiled as she saw Aimée standing in her playpen, bouncing up and down a bit as she pointed at the window. Walking over, Bell picked her up and carried her to the window.

"That's rain, my love." She put a finger against the window and smiled at her daughter. "Rain."

Aimée's face scrunched up in displeasure as she hid her face in her mother's hair, which was hanging down today. Bell laughed softly as Aimée tried to find a safe place, wrapping her mother's long tresses in her little fists. Suddenly, she squealed and Bellona cringed as the sound burst into her ears.

"Pa!" She was waving her hands at something behind Bell, and she turned to see her husband standing in the door. Bell put Aimée on the floor and followed slowly as, with a scrunched and concentrated look on her face, the baby walked slowly toward her father. Raoul knelt, holding out his hands, and Aimée reached for them as she stepped closer. The last few steps were quick ones as Raoul grabbed her and scooped her up, swinging her high in the air, holding her over his head as he smiled at her and she screamed with laughter. Bellona smiled as she watched them, glad that her husband was such a natural with their daughter.

Raoul lowered Aimée and held her in one arm while the other arm slid around his wife's waist and he pressed a kiss against her lips. She kissed him back, glad that he was home. When they parted, he smiled at her. "I got what you asked for." Reaching in his jacket pocket, he pulled out a handfull of tickets. "We leave in a week."

Bellona sighed heavily. She couldn't stand it any longer—she missed her father horribly, and a wonderful excuse to go to America and visit him had come in his last letter. He had written that he was anxious to marry Christine soon after their child was born, which was due in March, meaning it was likely they would marry in April. Raoul had fixed it with his parents to be gone for that time, and next week he, Bell, Aimée, Nadir, and Raja would all sail to New York to see them. It would also be the first time Bell and Raja actually met their aunt and uncle. They sounded wonderful from the letters Erik had written and both women were anxious to meet them.

Glancing out the window, Bell sighed again. "I hope it stops raining before we leave. The last thing I want is to be worse than usual because of rough seas. Papa said Christine was terrible on their trip over."

Raoul frowned, not understanding. "Are you not feeling well?"

Bellona frowned back. "You haven't noticed?"

He shook his head. "Only that you've been waking up early."

Eyes rolling, Bell took Aimée from Raoul. "You're such a typical man." She bounced Aimée on her hip as she walked past him to the stairs. "I have my head in a bucket and you haven't even noticed." She shook her head. "Typical."

She heard quick footsteps behind her as Raoul caught up with her. "Have you seen the doctor?"

"He was here this morning."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What did he say?"

She smiled at Aimée when she reached out for her mother's hair to hide once more as a clap of thunder sounded overhead. "Our little girl's not going to be an only child for much longer. She'll have company in about seven and a half months."

Glancing over her shoulder, she had just enough time to see her husband's jaw drop. He sat down hard on the stairs, staring at the wall, mouth still open. Bell stepped down a bit so that she was looking at his face. Reaching for his chin, she turned his head toward her. "Is that alright with you?"

"You can have another one so soon?" he blurted.

Bell laughed. "I would rather you not make a habit out of this. I don't want to spend the next ten years giving birth." Leaning in, she kissed him softly before walking up the stairs and swinging her hips sensously.

Raoul stared after her for several minutes before he followed, determined to reenact what had led to her news.

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"Raja!"

"What?"

"Are you packed yet?"

Raja heaved a sigh as she called back for the fifth time that morning that yes, she was packed. Yes, her cases were downstairs. Yes, yes, yes...

There was a soft knock on the door and she looked up to find Nadir smiling in at her. "May I come in?"

She nodded, looking out the window to the east and sighing again as she thought of home. It was so cold in France, and nothing here was anything like Persia. The only person she felt she could talk to was Nadir and the result had been growing much closer to him than ever before. She only wished that he would not pull away so often. As he sat down next to her, she pulled her gaze away.

"Do you suppose it will be as cold in America?"

Nadir smiled. "It's quite likely. But you will be with your father again."

Raja frowned. "And you will pull away from me more there?"

Folding his hands, Nadir gave her a quizical look. "Why would I pull away from you? You know how I feel about you."

Standing, Raja crossed the room to the closet, making it appear as if she was double checking that nothing she would need was forgotten. "No, I don't."

She couldn't see his face as he said softly, "I've grown very fond of you these past months."

A somewhat bitter taste filled Raja's mouth. "Fond," she whispered to herself. She knew he was fond of her. What she wanted was something more. She knew the pain he felt from losing his wife was immence. She also knew that, in order to move past that pain, he had to feel more than fondness. She wanted him to feel love.

Coming back out of the closet, Raja smiled sadly at him. "Yes, Nadir, you are very fond of me. I don't want fondness—you know that."

"Raja." He rose, holding out a hand. "You know why I—"

"Yes," she said sharply. "And I know you will never allow it to fall away. I will never measure up to her, I know that. I'm not asking to replace your wife. Do you think so little of me? I'm asking you to love me and never to forget her. But I suppose that is asking too much."

Turning, she left the room before her tears fell in front of him. Descending the stairs, she dried her eyes and face and tried to put of a front of indifference. When she got downstairs, Bellona was waiting, tapping her foot and peering up at her. When she saw her younger sister's face, however, she became concerned. Raja brushed past her and out the door as she heard Nadir come down the stairs behind her. She climbed into the carriage and a minute later, Bellona came in behind her, settling next to her sister and wrapping an arm around her. Raja leaned into her, breathing shakily and trying not to appear as weak as she knew she was.

Bellona's voice broke the silence. "Do you want me to kill him for you?"

Raja laughed shakily. "No, I could do it myself if the need arose."

Wiping her eyes, Raja sat up straight again. The carriage door opened and Raoul's hand appeared, pulling himself up and in. Without question, he slid into the seat opposite his wife and sister-in-law. He offered Raja a small, encouraging smile, and she knew that he understood what she was going through at the moment. It was what she had always liked about Raoul. She had never had a brother, but she had always felt as if he were watching out for her as if she were his blood. A few weeks ago, she had climbed off of her horse wrong, slipping a bit and twisting her ankle. When he had found her in the stable several minutes later, he had checked her ankle then carried her up to the house, asking Bell to fetch servants to tend to her. He had tucked her into bed, propping her ankle up, while Bellona had brought ice for her ankle. Proclimaing that she would live, he tousled her hair a bit and sat in a chair until the doctor arrived.

Now, he did not object to not sitting next to his wife, understanding that Raja needed her now more than he did. He settled into his little corner as Nadir climbed in, sitting awkwardly next to him. Then they were off, headed to the boat that would take them to America.

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Christine sat on the couch, her feet out in front of her, eyes closed, and one hand absently rubbing her belly. Three weeks, and this child would enter the world, which she hoped would be much kinder than it had been to its father. She knew that a part of Erik was terrified that their child would have his face, but she didn't care. If it did, then she would treasure it as a constant reminder of the man she loved so much. If it didn't, she would love it the same.

Erik was at work and, again, she was sitting alone in the parlor, wishing she could drink more tea. Glancing at the table, she saw several scones still left from tea time and wished she could easily get up from her position. After several minutes of debate, she managed to manuver herself up and began to eat. They were delicious and she took a few, put them in a napkin, and walked into the hall.

Hearing the door open, she headed to the entrance way, still munching her treat. When she arrived, Erik was removing his cloak and shaking snow from it. Hearing her footsteps, he smiled at her.

"Brought me something, have you?"

Frowning, she held her snack closer to her. "Get your own," she said. "These are mine."

Erik smiled a bit more broadly, kicking off his wet shoes and wrapping his arms around her. His lips slid down her neck and he held her close as she leaned against him. They stayed that way for several minutes until she kissed his cheek and pulled away, taking another bite and smiling at him. "Did you have a good day?"

Shrugging, Erik took a small bite of the scone that was still in her hand before she had a chance to keep it away. "Long day," he said. "There's not much that can be done in winter—just contracts and making plans."

"Aren't you home early, though?"

"Nothing much to do." Wrapping an arm around her, he walked her to the kitchen, where he set about making a sandwich for himself. "Would you like one?"

Christine nodded and managed herself up onto a stool. He glanced at her, a bit disapproving, and she frowned. "What?"

"You could fall off."

She rolled her eyes. "You think I could fall off of a sofa." She ate her last scone. "That's why I don't share my food with you."

"There are some snacks of yours I wouldn't want to share with you."

"Like what?"

"Like chocolate and olives."

"That happens to be a delicious snack."

"Of course." He set a plate in front of her which, ironically, held several olives. "You just happen to want it at three in the morning."

"Your child stops for nothing," she said haughitly. "Always hungry. I have nothing to do with it."

Shaking his head, Erik sat down across from her. "What did you to today?"

"I knitted a scarf for you so you don't freeze on the way home." She reached over, running her hand over his still cold neck, and he reached up, keeping her hand there while she continued talking. "I read three more chapters of _Jane Eyre_ and I started a new needlepoint with Katie. I darned your socks, as well, and washed the trousers you insisted on dumping gravy on during breakfast."

He smiled. "Thank you, darling." He kissed her fingertips and she smiled warmly at him. "You are a gracious woman."

She inhaled sharply as he slid one of her fingers into his mouth, nibbling at the tip a bit before letting go and clearing the counter. She heaved a sigh as he set about doing the dishes. She wanted nothing more than to go for a walk or ride a horse—anything to get out of the stuffy house. Erik and Elaine insisted that she stay inside, though, saying it was far to cold for a woman of her delicate condition outside. Katie, however, took a bit of pity on her and had promised to stop by, bundle her up, and take her into town for a bit of light shopping the next day, saying that she needed a bit of fresh air and a change of scenery. Christine was excited by the idea of getting out of the house after so long.

She was just contemplating asking Erik to make her another sandwich when she heard a bang from the brass knocker on the front door. Frowning, she rose to her feet. Erik put a hand on her arm to stop her, but she shrugged it off, walking out of the kitchen and reaching the door well before the maid. She opened it a crack and peered out. Standing on the front step was a huddle of four people, one of whom was clutching a very small child.

Christine threw open the door, beaming. "You're all here!" She stepped out of the way to allow them out of the cold and into the house. "How did you get here?"

Bellona smiled wryly. "We swam."

Raoul laughed as he stomped snow from his boots. Wrapping Christine in a brotherly hug, he pulled back, smiling. "Look at you!"

Christine laughed. "It's not as if I'm hard to miss." She turned her smile to Bellona. "We just got you letter yesterday—I'm so excited!"

"I have a feeling that I'm never going to get my figure back if he keeps this up." Looking behind Christine, her smile widened. "Papa!"

Running, she threw herself into her father's arms, chattering away excitedly, while Christine greeted Raja and Nadir, who both looked slightly different than usual. A regular correspandance with Raja allowed Christine to know why, and she pulled the other woman into a tight hug.

"Are you alright?" she asked, softly so that no one else could hear.

Raja nodded and clutched Christine a bit tighter before pulling back, brushing tears out of her eyes. "I can't believe how big you've gotten," she said, trying to make it seem as if her tears were those of joy. Erik was looking suspiciously at her over Bell's shoulder.

Christine smiled radiantly. "Three more weeks!" Heaving a sigh, she turned, still smiling, although a bit dangerously now, to Nadir. He was somewhat unwillingly pulled into another of Christine's hugs. Putting her lips near his ear, she whispered, "Stop toying with her—she loves you, you know."

Nadir smiled a bit sadly as he pulled back. "I know."

Lightly punching his shoulder, Christine winked at Raja and said loudly, "Let's get everyone settled."

_a/n Happy new year, all! I just came out of the worst semester of my life, and I have an education class I have to retake, which makes my life miserable. Anyway, another chapter and a finale are in order—you know me. And BTW, for any _Harry Potter_ fans that may be reading this..._

_H/G FOREVER AND A DAY!_


	21. Chapter 20

_a/n This is such a short chapter that I did one of those things where you include the epilogue at the end. Forgive me._

**CHAPTER 20—BEGINNINGS**

The house was fairly quiet as Bellona walked down the hall to her father's room. Knocking softly, she stepped in. Seated in a chair next to the bed was Erik, holding Christine's hand as she dozed lightly. Her face was covered in a sheen of sweat. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Bell was surprised to see that it was already three in the morning.

Erik glanced up, staring at Bell out of sleepy eyes. He had long since abandoned the mask and wig and he looked even worse than usual. She had tried to convince him to rest when Christine did, promising that it would make the process easier. He had refused, instead dabbing face with a cool, damp cloth and holding ice for her to suck.

"He says she's getting there," Erik said quietly. "Shouldn't be much longer, then you can all get some rest."

Bell snorted as the doctor reentered the room behind her. "I haven't gotten rest since Aimée was born."

Erik smiled slightly. He watched as the doctor examined Christine, coming back up and yawning widely. "Any time now. I'd say the next one or the one after that."

Right on cue, Christine's eyes flew open. Her hand tightened around Erik's, and her head came up off the pillow. She hissed in pain before she forced herself to breathe in and out. After several long minutes, she relaxed again, her face still a bit contorted, her eyes closed.

"That was the worst yet," she moaned.

Erik dabbed her brow. "I'm sorry, my darling."

Christine sighed and closed her eyes again. Bellona heaved a sigh and smiled tiredly at her father and Christine. "I'm going back downstairs."

Suddenly, Christine's hand shot out and her eyes opened. She looked frantic. "How will I know what to do?"

Bell smiled, crossing over and taking her hand. "You'll know. The doctor will tell you what to do. Women have babies all the time without doctors or experience."

Dr. Andrews glanced under the sheet again, before saying, "I've always wondered how much it hurts to give birth."

Sitting up in the anticipation of another contraction, Christine, her face red and her eyes dangerous, glared at Dr. Andrews. "Come a little closer and I'll show you," she growled.

The doctor chuckled, and glanced under the sheet again. "Remember to breathe, dear."

Christine moaned and clutched Erik's and Bell's hands tighter. "It's not going away."

Bell squeezed back and brushed hair back from Christine's forehead. "I know," she murmured. "I know it hurts."

"I want it to stop." She cried out in pain as the doctor called for her to push. "Erik, make it stop."

"Only you can do that, love," he said. His voice was calm, but Bellona could tell he was holding in a grimace of pain—Christine's hand was tighter than ever. Looking over at his daughter, he mouthed, _How do I get her to let go?_

Bell just smiled and shook her head. "Can't be done," she said lightly. "Come on, Christine, just a few more pushes and you'll be done. It'll go away, then."

Christine screamed, and all three of them flinched.

"One more, Christine," the doctor said. "One big one, and you're done."

"Push, darling." Erik's voice was urgent and his face was alight with a look of wonder as the sound of crying filled the room. Looking around, he didn't let go of Christine's hand as he leaned over to look at their child.

"Erik?"

He smiled, pressing a kiss to Christine's forehead. "She's perfect."

Aimée was tired as she trudged back up to the house, carrying a bushel basket of apples from the orchard. Looking up at the sky, she frowned. It looked almost as if it could rain. To Aimée, who spent hours outside when she wasn't working, the New England rain in October was not a welcome event. Sighing, she set the apples down and walked around to the other side of the house. Peering out over the lawn, she could see several children in the distance. She called out, but they couldn't hear her over the crash of the waves.

She walked down the sloping lawn towards them, and immediately, they scampered around, grabbing their shoes and walking to meet her. She laughed when they got close enough to really look at. "I hope you don't think you're coming inside like that."

Ezekiel beamed, clearly proud of the mess he had made of himself. "Why not?"

"You're covered in sand!" She brushed at his shirt. "Besides, you've still got to go bring that wheelbarrow up before it rains."

Grumbling, Zeke headed back to the orchard to finish his task while Aimée shephearded the others inside. Zeke had been the worst, by far. The bottom of Nadra's skirt was wet and her brother, Rabi, had lost his socks at some point. The twins, Charles and George, were still shoeless, as their shoes had apparently acquired too much sand for wearing. As they made their way inside, a carriage trundled up the lane. Aimée waved at her grandfather and the twins raced to meet him. He'd hardly set his foot down when they reached him, and they launched into an explanation of how their day had been.

A boy attached to each leg, Erik smiled at his granddaughter. "How were they today?"

"Oh, you know, the usual." Aimée smiled. "I think they know the weather won't hold out for long. They were all rather restless today."

"Lovely."

Aimée turned and headed into the house. She found Christine in the parlor with Bonnie, who was reading a book while her mother did the mending. They both looked up when she entered.

"Are you off?" Christine asked.

Nodding, Aimée leaned down to kiss her cheek. "How's your cold?"

"Nearly gone." Christine sipped her tea. "What time will you be here tomorrow?"

"Around nine, I suppose, if the weather holds up."

"Don't bother if it rains." Christine smiled and nudged Bonnie's leg with her foot. "She can help me if need be."

Bidding the two women goodbye, Aimée waved and walked from the room, making her way out into the cool afternoon air. A voice called her name, and she turned to see Bonnie running toward her.

"I have a secret to tell you," she whispered, looking around to make sure no one was looking. "I heard that Tommy Jameson is going to ask you to the social next week."

Aimée laughed. "I'll be sure to avoid him."

Bonnie bobbed her head once, smiling broadly. The wind picked up slightly, blowing Bonnie's brown curls about. She leaned in even closer and whispered, "I know you don't like it, but maybe you should just go with Melvin and get it over with."

"I am going with Melvin."

Bonnie raised her eyebrows.

Aimée tossed her dark hair and said regally, "He wrote me today, asking if I would accompany him and I sent back a note saying that I would love to."

"That's new."

"Not really. I found out why his hair is always on end."

"Why?"

"I saw him doing some math at the office and he kept running his hands through it. He's not so bad."

"I hope not." Bonnie turned and headed back to the house. "You have to get married someday." Then she waved and she was gone.

Aimée smiled. She vaguely recalled her mother saying she was much older than twenty when she married, so there was no rush. Still, though, the prospect of settling down and having children of her own was something that had always appealed to her. Eventually, she would. Today, though, as she walked back home, she was content to care for her own family, instead. She was lucky, perhaps, that she had such a large family. Her grandfather had four children, Raja and Nadir, two, and she had her brother. Who needed to get married and have children when one had such a perfect family already?

_a/n Really terrible ending, I realize. It's just that I realized today that I started this two years ago—I should probably finish it. I love you all, especially if you've been keeping up with this. Hopefully, the other story I'm writing will go a little faster. Love you! Review!_


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